BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


N.  C.  CREEDE. 
S.  T.  SMITH. 


D.  H.  MOFFAT. 


CAPT.  L.  E.  CAMPBELL. 
WALTER  S.  CHEESMAN. 


THE 


PROSPECTOR. 


STORY  OF  THE  LIFE  OF 
NICHOLAS  C.  CREEDE. 


BY 

CY  WARMAN. 


DENVER 

THE  GREAT  DIVIDE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
1894. 


Wl/f 


COPYRIGHTED  1894,  BY  CY  WARMAN, 
DENVER,  COLORADO. 


PREFACE. 


The  purpose  of  these  pages  is  to  tell 
the  simple  story  of  the  life  of  an  un- 
pretentious man,  and  to  show  what 
the  Prospector  has  endured  and  accom- 
plished for  the  West. 

THE  AUTHOK. 


THE  PROSPECTOR. 


CHAPTER  I. 

BIETHPLACE SCHOOL      DAYS BOY     LIFE 

ON     THE     FRONTIER FAVORITE     SPORTS. 

CIFTY  years  and  one  ago,  near  Fort 
Wayne,  Indiana,  Nicholas  C.  Creede, 
the  story  of  whose  eventful  life  I  shall 
attempt  to  tell  you,  first  saw  the  light 
of  day.  When  but  four  years  old  his 
parents  removed  to  the  Territory  of 
Iowa,  a  country  but  thinly  settled  and 
still  in  the  grasp  of  hostile  tribes 

whose  crimes,   and    the .  crimes  of   their 

t 

enemies,  have  reddened  every  river  from 
the   Hudson   to   the  Yosemite. 

In    those     broad     prairies,    abounding 

15 


16  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

with  buffalo  and  wild  game  of  every 
kind,  began  a  career  which,  followed 
for  a  half  century,  written  down  in  a 
modest  way,  will  read  like  a  romance. 

When  but  a  mere  lad,  young  Creede 
became  proficient  in  the  use  of  the 
rifle  and  made  for  himself  a  lasting 
reputation  as  a  successful  hunter.  He 
was  known  in  the  remote  settlements  as 
the  crack  shot  of  the  Territory,  and  be- 
ing of  a  daring,  fearless  nature,  spent 
much  of  his  time  in  the  trackless  for- 
est and  on  the  treeless  plain. 

As  the  years  went  by,  a  ceaseless 
tide  of  immigration  flowed  in  upon  the 
beautiful  Territory  until  the  locality 
where  the  Creedes  had  their  home  was 
thickly  dotted  with  cabins  and  tents, 
and  fields  of  golden  grain  supplanted 
the  verdure  of  the  virgin  sod.  As  the 
population  increased,  game  became 
scarce,  and  then,  as  the  recognized 


CHAPTER  I.  17 

leader,  young  Creede,  at  the  head  of 
a  band  of  boyish  associates,  penetrated 
the  wilds  far  to  the  northward  in  pur- 
suit of  their  favorite  sport.  On  some 
of  these  hunting  expeditions  they 
pushed  as  far  north  as  the  British 
line,  camping  where  game  was  abun- 
dant, until  they  had  secured  as  much 
as  their  horses  could  carry  back  to  the 
settlements. 

This  life  in  the  western  wilds  awoke 
in  the  soul  of  the  young  hunter  a  love 
for  adventure,  and  his  whole  career 
since  that  time  has  been  characterized 
by  a  strong  preference  for  the  danger 
and  excitement  of  frontier  life. 

The  facilities  for  acquiring  an  educa- 
tion during  young  Creede's  boyhood 
were  extremely  limited.  A  small 
school-house  was  erected  about  three 
miles  from  his  home,  and  there  the 
boys  and  girls  of  the  settlement  flocked 


18  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

to  study  the  simplest  branches  under  a 
male  teacher,  who,  the  boys  said,  was 
utoo  handy  with  the  gad."  The  boy 
scout  might  have  acquired  more  learn- 
ing than  he  did,  but  he  had  heart 
trouble.  A  little  prairie  flower  bloomed 
in  life's  way,  and  the  young  knight  of 
the  plain  paused  to  taste  its  perfume. 
He  had  no  fear  of  man  or  beast,  but 
when  he  looked  into  the  liquid,  love- 
lit  eyes  of  this  prairie  princess  he  was 
always  embarrassed.  He  had  walked 
and  tried  to  talk  with  her,  but  the 
words  would  stick  in  his  throat  and 
choke  him.  At  last  he  learned  to 
write  and  thought  to  woo  her  in  an 
easier  way.  One  day  she  entered  the 
school-room,  fresh  and  ruddy  as  the 
rosy  morn;  her  cherried  lips  made  red- 
der by  the  biting  breeze  ;  and  when 
the  eyes  of  the  lass  and  the  lover  met, 
all  the  pent-up  passion  and  fettered 


N.  C.  CREEDE. 


CHAPTER  I.  19 

affection   flashed   aflame   from   her   heart 
to   his,  and   he    wrote   upon    her   slate : 

*'  The  honey  bee  for  honey   tips 

The  rose  upon  the  lea; 
Then  how  would  be  your  honeyed  lips 
If  I  could  be  the  bee?" 

The  cold,  calculating  teacher  saw 
the  fire  that  flashed  from  her  heart  to 
her  cheek,  and  he  stepped  to  her  desk. 
She  saw  him  coming  and  she  spat 
upon  the  slate  and  smote  the  sentiment 
at  one  swift  sweep.  Then  the  teacher 
stormed.  He  said  the  very  fact  that 
she  rubbed  it  out  was  equal  to  a  con- 
fession of  guilt,  and  he  "  reckoned 
he'd  haf  to  flog  her."  A  school- 
mate of  Creede's  told  this  story  to 
me,  and  he  said  all  the  big  boys  held 
their  breath  when  the  teacher  went 
for  his  whip,  and  young  Creede  sat 
pale  and  impatient.  "Hell  never  dare 
to  strike  that  pretty  creature,"  they 


20  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

thought;   "  she    is    so    sweet,   so    gentle, 
and  so   good." 

The  trembling  maiden  was  not  so 
sure  about  that  as  she  stepped  to  the 
whipping  corner,  shaking  like  an  aspen. 
"  Swish "  went  the  switch,  the  pretty 
shoulders  shrugged,  and  the  young 
gallant  saw  two  tears  in  his  sweet- 
heart's eyes,  and  in  a  flash  he  stood 
between  her  and  the  teacher  and  said  : 
u  Strike  me,  you  Ingin,  and  I'll  strike 
you."  "So '11  I,  so '11  I,"  said  a 
dozen  voices,  and  the  teacher  laid  down 
his  hand. 


CHAPTER  II. 


HIS    FATHER'S    DEATH — DRIFTING   WEST 
WARD ADVENTURES   ON    THE   MISSOURI, 


F^EATH  came  to  the  Creede  family 
^^^  when  young  Creede  was  but  eight 
years  old.  A  few  years  later  the  youth 
found  a  step-father  in  the  family,  and 
they  were  never  very  good  friends. 
The  boy's  home -life  was  not  what  he 
thought  it  should  be,  and  he  bade  his 
mother  good -by  and  started  forth  to 
face  the  world.  In  that  thinly  settled 
country,  the  young  man  found  it  very 
difficult  to  secure  work  of  any  kind, 
and  more  than  once  he  was  forced  to 
fancy  himself  the  "  merry  monarch  of 
the  hay-mow,"  or  a  shepherd  guarding 
his  father's  flocks,  as  he  lay  down  to 
sleep  in  the  cornfield  and  covered  with 


2  2  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

the  stars.  The  men,  for  the  most  part, 
he  said,  were  gruff  and  harsh,  but  the 
women  everywhere  were  his  friends, 
and  many  a  season  of  fasting  was 
shortened  by  reason  of  a  gentle  wom- 
an's sympathy  and  kindness  of  heart. 
The  brave  boy  battled  with  life's 
storms  alone ;  and  when  but  eighteen 
years  old  he  set  his  face  to  the  West. 
Omaha  was  the  one  bright  star  in 
the  western  horizon  toward  which  the 
eyes  of  restless  humanity  were  turned, 
and  on  the  breast  of  the  tide  of  immi- 
gration our  young  man  reached  the 
uncouth  capital  of  Nebraska.  Perhaps 
he  had  not  read  these  unkind  remarks 
by  the  poet  Saxe : 

"  Hast  ever  been  to  Omaha,  where  rolls  the  dark 

Missouri  down, 
And   forty  horses   scarce   can   draw  an  empty 

wagon  through   the  town? 
If  not,  then  list  to  what  I  say:    You'll  find  it 

just  as  I  have  found  it, 


CHAPTER  II.  23 

And  if  it  lie  upon  your  way,  take  my  advice, 
and  you'll  go  round  it." 

Omaha  was  then  the  great  outfitting 
point  for  the  country  to  the  westward, 

Where  everything  was  open  wide, 
And  men  drank  absinthe  on  the  side. 

In  the  language  of  Field,  "money 
flowed  like  liquor,"  and  a  man  who 
was  willing  to  work  could  find  plenty 
to  do  ;  but  the  rush  and  bustle  of  the 
busy,  frontier  town  was  not  in  keeping 
with  the  taste  of  our  hero,  and  he  be- 
gan to  pine  for  the  broad  fields  and 
the  open  prairie.  At  first  it  was  all 
new  and  strangely  interesting  to  him  ; 
and  often,  after  his  day's  work  was 
done,,  he  would  wander  about  the  town, 
looking  on  at  the  gaming  tables  and 
viewing  the  festivities  in  the  concert 
halls  ;  and  when  weary  of  the  sights 
and  scenes,  he  would  go  forth  into  the 


24 


THE  PROSPECTOR. 


stilly  night  and  walk  the  broad,  smooth 
streets  till  the  moon  went  down.  At 
last,  he  resolved  to  leave  its  busy 
throng,  and  joining  a  party  of  wood- 


choppers,  he  went  away  up  the  river 
where  the  willows  grew  tall  and  slim. 
He  was  busy  on  the  banks  of  the  sul- 
len stream;  he  felt  the  breath  of  Spring 
and  the  sunshine,  and  while  the  wild 


CHAPTER  II.  25 

birds  sang  in  the  willows,  he  wielded 
the  ax  and  was  happy. 

The  wood  was  easily  worked  and 
commanded  a  good  price  at  Omaha, 
and  the  young  chopper  soon  found 
that  he  was  quite  prosperous;  was  his 
own  master,  and  he  whistled  and 
chopped  while  the  she-deer  fondled 
her  fawn  and  the  pheasant  fluttered 
near  him,  friendly  and  unafraid.  Once 
a  week  the  wood  was  loaded  on  a 
"mackinaw"  and  floated  down  to  the 
city,  where  barges  were  always  wait- 
ing, and  where  sharp  competition  often 
sent  prices  way  above  the  expectation 
of  the  settlers. 

One  day,  while  making  one  of  these 
innocent  and  profitable  trips  down  the 
river,  young  Creede  nearly  lost  his 
life.  For  some  reason,  they  were 
trying  to  make  a  landing  above  the 
city,  and  Creede  was  in  the  bow  of 


26  THE  PROSPECTOR. 

the  boat,  pulling  a  long  sweep  oar 
fixed  there  on  a  wooden  pin.  While 
exercising  all  his  strength  to  turn  the 
boat  shoreward  in  the  stiff  current,  the 
pin  broke,  he  was  thrown  headlong 
into  the  water  and  the  boat  drifted 
above  him.  As  often  as  he  rose  to 
the  surface,  his  head  would  strike  the 
bottom  of  the  boat  and  he  would  be 
forced  down  again.  It  seemed  to  him, 
he  said,  that  the  boat  was  a  mile 
long  and  moving  with  snail-like  speed. 
He  was  finally  rescued  more  dead 
than  alive,  so  full  of  muddy  water 
that  they  had  to  roll  him  over  a 
water-keg  a  long  time  before  he  could 
be  bailed  out  and  brought  back  to 
life. 

When  he  reached  Omaha  and  re- 
ceived his  share  of  the  cash  from  the 
sale  of  the  wood,  he  abandoned  that 


CHAPTER  II.  27 

line  of  labor,  and  with  the  restlessness 
of  spirit  and  love  for  adventure  which 
has  characterized  his  whole  life,  again 
started  westward. 


The  sturdy  bull,  with  stately  tread, 
Submissive,  silent,  bows  his  head 
And  feels  the  yoke.      The  creaking   wain 
Rolls  leisurely  across   the  plain: 
Across  the  trackless,  treeless  land, 
An   undulating  sea  of  sand, 
Where  mocking,  sapless  rivers  run ; 
With  swollen  tongue  and  bloodshot  eye, 
Still  on  to  where  the  shadows  lie, 
And  onward  toward  the  setting  sun. 

With  weeping  eyes  he  looks  away 
To  where  his  free-born  brothers  play 
Upon  the  plain,  so  wild  and  wide; 
He  turns  his  head  from   side  to  side, 
He  feels  the   bull-whip's  cruel  stroke; 
Again  he  leans  against  the  yoke. 
At  last  his  weary   walk  is  done. 
He  pauses  at  the  river's  brink 
And  drinks  the  while  his  drivers  drink. 
Almost  beside  the  setting  sun. 


CHAPTER  III. 


INDIAN     FIGHTING  -  THE     UNION     PACIFIC 
-  BUFFALO     HUNTING. 


arrival  at  the  Pawnee  In- 
dian  Reservation  on  the  Loop  fork 
of  the  Platte  River  marked  an  era  in  his 
eventful  life.  He  began  at  this  place 
a  period  of  seven  years'  Indian  fight- 
ing and  scouting,  which  made  him 
known  in  the  valley  of  the  Platte, 
and  gave  him  a  fame  which  would 
have  'been  world-wide  had  he,  like 
later  border  celebrities,  sought  for  no- 
toriety in  print  and  courted  the  favor 
of  writers  of  yellow  covered  literature. 
Being  naturally  of  a  retiring,  un- 
communicative nature,  he  shrank  from 
public  attention  ;  and  no  writer  of  fic- 

tion, or  even  a  newspaper  correspondent 

29 


30  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

could  wrest  from  him  a  single  point 
on  which  to  hang  a  sensational  story. 
While  genial  and  sociable  among  his 
associates  on  the  trail,  his  lips  were 
locked  when  a  correspondent  was  in 
camp. 

At  that  time  the  Union  Pacific  rail- 
way was  in  course  of  construction,  and 
hostile  Indians  continually  harassed  the 
workers  and  did  all  in  their  power  to 
retard  the  progress  of  the  work. 
United  States  Cavalry  troops  were  put 
into  the  field  to  protect  the  working 
corps,  and  workmen  themselves  were 
provided  with  arms  for  their  own  de- 
fense. The  Pawnee  Indians  were  lying 
quietly  on  their  reservation,  at  peace 
with  the  whites,  never  going  forth  ex- 
cept on  periodical  buffalo  hunts,  or  on 
the  war-path  against  their  hereditary 
enemies,  the  Sioux. 

Under  these  circumstances  was   begun 


CHAPTER  III. 


31 


the  building  of  a  line  across  the  plains. 
It  was  here  that  the  now  famous  "  Buf- 
falo Bill "  made  his  reputation  as  a  buf- 
falo killer,  which  has  enabled  him  to 
travel  around  the  world,  giving  exhibi- 
tions of  life  on  the  western  wilds  of 
America. 


Mr.  Frank  North,  then  a  resident  of 
the  Pawnee  country,  and  thoroughly 
familiar  with  their  language  and  cus- 
toms, conceived  the  idea  that  the  Paw- 
nees would  prove  valuable  allies  to  the 
regular  troops  in  battling  with  the  hos- 
tile Sioux,  and  with  but  little  difficulty 


32  THE  PROSPECTOR. 

secured  governmental  authority  to  enlist 
two  or  three  companies  and  officer 
them  with  whites  of  his  own  choosing. 
One  of  the  very  first  men  he  hit  upon 
was  Creede,  whom  he  made  a  first  lieu- 
tenant of  one  of  the  companies,  a  rela- 
tive of  the  organizer  being  placed  in 
command  with  a  captain's  rank.  This 
man  was  a  corpulent,  easy-going  fellow, 
who  sought  the  place  for  the  pay. 
There  was  nothing  in  his  nature  that 
seemed  to  say  to  him  that  he  should 
go  forth  and  do  battle  with  the  fear- 
less hair-lifters  of  the  plain.  Even  at 
his  worst,  two  men  could  hold  him 
when  the  fight  was  on.  He  was  a  very 
sensible  man,  who  preferred  the  quiet 
of  the  camp  and  the  government  barber 
to  the  prairie  wilds  and  the  irate  red 
man. 

With    Creede     it    was    different.     He 
was    young   and   ambitious,    and   having 


CHAPTER  III.  33 

been  brought  up  by  the  firm  hand  of 
a  step -father,  peace  troubled  his  mind. 
Nothing  pleased  him  more  than  to  have 
the  captain  herd  the  horses  while  he 
went  out  with  his  hand-painted  Paw- 
nees to  chase  the  frescoed  Sioux.  He 
set  to  work  assiduously  to  learn  the 
language  of  the  Pawnees  and  soon  mas- 
tered it.  By  his  recklessness  in  battle 
and  remarkable  bravery  in  every  time 
of  danger,  he  gained  the  admiration 
and  confidence  of  the  savage  men,  who 
followed  fearlessly  where  their  leader 
led.  They  looked  upon  Creede  as 
their  commander,  regarding  the  Captain 
as  a  sort  of  camp  fixture,  not  made 
for  field  work,  and  many  of  their 
achievements  under  their  favorite  leader 
awoke  amazement  in  their  own  breasts 
and  made  them  a  terror  to  their  Indian 
foes.  If  there  are  those  who  think 
these  pages  are  printed  to  please 


34  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

rather  than  from  a  desire  to  tell  the 
truth  and  do  justice  to  a  name  long 
neglected,  I  need  but  state  that  it 
stands  to-day  as  a  prominent  page  of 
the  history  of  Indian  warfare  in  the 
West,  that  during  their  several  years 
of  service,  the  Pawnee  scouts  were 
never  defeated  in  battle.  The  intrepid, 
dashing  spirit  of  their  white  leaders 
inspired  their  savage  natures  with  a 
confidence  in  their  own  powers  which 
seemed  to  render  them  invincible. 

Major  North  was  himself  a  brave, 
energetic  officer,  fearless  in  battle  and 
skilled  in  Indian  craft,  and  not  a  few 
of  his  appointments  proved  to  be  valu- 
able ones  from  a  fighting  standpoint. 
Because  he  was  always  with  them, 
sharing  their  danger  and  leading  fear- 
lessly when  the  fight  was  fierce,  the 
red  scouts  came  to  regard  Lieutenant 
Creede  as  the  great  "  war  chief  " ;  and 


E.  DICKINSON. 


CHAPTER   III.  35 

never  did  they  falter  a  moment  when 
they  were  needed  most  by  the  Govern- 
ment. Every  perilous  expedition  was 
intrusted  to  Creede  and  his  invincibles. 
A  favoritism  was  shown  which  permit- 
ted certain  officers  to  remain  in  camp 
away  from  danger.  They  never  knew 
how  proud  the  Lieutenant  was  to  lead 
his  gallant  scouts.  It  was  a  compara- 
tively easy  road  to  fame  with  so  brave 
a  band  of  warriors,  and  the  attendant 

% 

danger  only  served  to  appease  the  lead- 
er's appetite  for  adventures. 

The  notable  incidents  which  marked 
Lieutenant  Creede's  career  during  his 
seven  years'  service '  as  a  scout  would 
fill  many  volumes  such  as  this.  But  a 
few  can  be  touched  upon  ;  just  enough 
to  exhibit  his  fearless  nature  and  his 
often  reckless  daring  in  the  face  of 
danger. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

Hard  down  the  plain  the  Red  Man  rode 
Against  the  Red    Man ;  Pawnee  slew 
His  hated  enemy,  the  Sioux, 

And  bathed  him  in  his  brother's  blood. 

For  they  were  wily,  wild  and  strong, 
Revengeful,  fearless,  fierce  and  fleet. 
They  murmured :  Oh,  revenge  is  sweet 

When  Red  Men  ride  to  right  a  wrong. 


LIEUTENANT     MURIE "  GOOD     INDIANS  " 

u  DON'T     LET     HER     KNOW." 


"  D  EAD   to   me,   Jim,"  said   the  sweet 

girl-wife  of  Lieutenant  Murie. 
u  I  can't  read  long,  my  love,'1  said  the 
gallant  scout.  "I  have  just  learned  that 
there  is  trouble  out  West  and  I  must 
away  to  the  front.  That  beardless  te- 
legrapher, Dick,  has  been  here  with  an 
order  from  Major  North  and  they  will 

run  us  out  special  at  11:30  to-night." 

36 


CHAPTER    IV.  37 

The  Lieutenant  picked  up  a  collection 
of  poeins  and  read  where  he  opened 
the  book  : 

"  Tell  me  not,  sweet,  I  am  unkind, 

That  from  the  nunnery 
Of  thy  chaste  breast  and  quiet  mind 
To  war  and  arms  I  flee." 

"  Oh,  Jim,"  she  broke  in,  "  why  don't 
they  try  to  civilize  these  poor,  hunted 
Indians  ?  Are  they  all  so  very  bad  ? 
Are  there  no  good  ones  among  them  ? 

"  Yes,"  said  the  soldier,  with  a  half 
smile.  "  They  are  all  good  except  those 
that  escape  in  battle." 

u  But  tell  me,  love,  how  long  will  this 
Indian  war  last  ?  " 

"  As  long  as  the  Sioux  hold  out," 
said  the  soldier. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  young  Lieu- 
tenant said  good -by  to  his  girl -wife 
and  went  away. 

This   was   in    the   '607s.       The    scouts 


38  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

were  stationed  near  Julesburg,  which 
was  then  the  terminus  of  the  Union 
Pacific  track.  The  special  engine  and 
car  that  brought  Lieutenant  Murie 
from  Omaha,  arrived  at  noon,  the 
next  day  after  its  departure  from  the 
banks  of  the  muddy  Missouri. 

Murie  had  been  married  less  than 
six  months.  For  many  moons  the 
love-letters  that  came  to  camp  from 
his  sweetheart's  hand  had  been  the 
sunshine  of  his  life,  and  now  they 
were  married  and  all  the  days  of 
doubt  and  danger  were  passed. 

An  hour  after  the  arrival  of  the 
special,  a  scout  came  into  camp  to  say 
that  a  large  band  of  hostile  Sioux  had 
come  down  from  the  foot-hills  and 
were  at  that  moment  standing,  as  if 
waiting — even  inviting  an  attack,  and 
not  a  thousand  yards  away.  If  we 
except  the  officers,  the  scouts  were 


CHAPTER    IV.  39 

nearly  all  Pawnee  Indians,  who,  at  the 
sight  or  scent  of  a  Sioux,  were  as  rest- 
less as  caged  tigers.  They  had  made  a 
treaty  with  this  hostile  tribe  once,  and 
were  cruelly  murdered  by  the  Sioux. 
This  crime  was  never  forgotten,  and 
when  the  Government  asked  the  Paw- 
nees to  join  the  scouts  they  did  so. 

The  scouts  did  not  keep  the  warriors 
waiting  long.  In  less  than  an  hour, 
Lieutenant  Murie  was  riding  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Sioux,  with  Lieutenant 
Creede  second  in  command,  followed  by 
two  hundred  Pawnee  scouts,  who  were 
spoiling  for  trouble.  The  Sioux,  as 
usual,  outnumbered  the  Government 
forces,  but,  as  usual,  the  dash  of  the 
daring  scouts  was  too  much  for  the 
hostiles  and  they  were  forced  from  the 
field. 

Early  in  the  exercises,  Murie  and 
Creede  were  surrounded  by  a  party  of 


40 


THE    PROSPECTOR. 


Sioux  and  completely  cut  off  from  the 
rest  of  the  command.  From  these  em- 
barrassing environments  they  escaped 
almost  miraculously.  All  through  the 
fight,  which  lasted  twenty  minutes  or 


more,  Creede  noticed  that  Murie  acted 
very  strangely.  He  would  yell  and 
rave  like  a  mad  man — dashing  here  and 
there,  in  the  face  of  the  greatest  dan- 
ger. At  times  he  would  battle  single- 
handed,  with  a  half  dozen  of  the 


CHAPTER    IV.  41 

fiercest   of   the   foe,  and    his  very  frenzy 
seemed  to   fill   them  with   fear. 

When  the  fight  was  over,  Lieutenant 
Murie  called  Creede  to  him  and  said  he 
had  been  shot  in  the  leg.  Hastily  dis- 
mounting, the  anxious  scout  pulled  off 
the  officer's  boot,  but  could  see  no 
wound  nor  sign  of  blood.  Others  came 
up  and  told  the  Lieutenant  that  his  leg 
was  as  good  as  new  ;  but  he  insisted 
that  he  wTas  wounded  and  silently  and 
sullenly  pulled  his  boot  on,  mounted, 
and  the  little  band  of  invincibles  started 
for  camp.  The  Pawnees  began  to  sing 
their  wild,  weird  songs  of  victory  as 
they  went  along  ;  but  they  had  pro- 
ceeded only  a  short  distance  when 
Murie  began  to  complain  again,  and 
again  his  boot  was  removed  to  show 
him  that  he  was  not  hurt.  Some  of 
the  party  chaffed  him  for  getting  rat- 
tled over  a  little  brush  like  that,  and 


42  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

again   in   silence    he   pulled  on  his  hoot 
and  they  continued  on  to  camp. 

Dismounting,  Murie  limped  to  the 
surgeon's  tent,  and  some  of  his  compan- 
ions followed  him,  thinking  to  have  a 
good  laugh  when  the  doctor  should  say 
it  was  all  the  result  of  imagination. 

o 

and  that   there  was  no  wound  at  all. 

When  the  surgeon  had  examined  the 
limb,  he  looked  up  at  the  face  of  the 
soldier,  which  was  a  picture  of  pain, 
and  the  bystanders  could  not  account 
for  the  look  of  tender  sympathy  and 
pity  in  the  doctor's  eyes. 

Can  it  be,  thought  Creede,  that  he  is 
really  hurt  and  that  I  have  failed  to 
find  the  wound  ?  "  Forgive  me,  Jim," 
he  said,  holding  out  his  hand  to  the 
sufferer,  but  the  surgeon  waved  him 
away. 

"  Why,  you — you  could  n't  help  it, 
Nick,"  said  Murie.  "  You  could  n't 


CHAPTER  IV.  43 

kill  all  of  tliem  ;  but  we  made  it 
warm  for  them  Jill  I  was  shot.  You 
won't  let  her  know,  will  you  ? "  he 
said,  turning  his  eyes  toward  the  med- 
ical man.  "  It  would  break  her  heart. 
Poor  dear,  how  she  cried  and  clung  to 
me  last  night  and  begged  me  to  stay 
with  her  and  let  the  country  die  for 
itself  awhile.  Most  wish  I  had  now. 
Is  it  very  bad,  Doctor  ?  Is  the  bone 
broken  ?" 

"Oh  no,"  said  the  surgeon.  "It's 
only  painful  ;  you'll  be  better  soon." 

"  Good !  Don't  let  her  know,  will 
you  ?" 

They  laid  him  on  a  cot  and  he 
closed  his  eyes,  whispering  as  he  did 
so  :  "  Don't  let  her  know." 

"  Where  '  is  the  hurt,  Doctor  ?  " 
Creede  whispered. 

"  Here,"   said     the     surgeon,    touching 


44  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

his  own  forehead  with  his  finger.  "He 
is  crazy — hopelessly  insane." 

All  night  they  watched  by  his  bed, 
and  every  few  moments  he  would  raise 
up  suddenly,  look  anxiously  around 
the  tent,  and  say  in  a  stage  whisper: 
"Don't  let  Jier  know." 

A  few  days  later  they  took  him 
away.  He  was  not  to  lead  his  brave 
scouts  again.  His  reason  failed  to  re- 
turn. I  never  knew  what  became  of  his 
wife,  but  I  have  been  told  that  she  is 
still  watching  for  the  window  of  his 
brain  to  open  up,  when  his  absent  soul 
will  look  out  and  see  her  waiting  with 
the  old-time  love  for  him. 

One  of  his  old  comrades  called  to  see 
him  at  the  asylum,  a  few  years  ago, 
and  was  recognized  by  £he  demented 
man.  To  him  his  wound  was  as  pain- 
ful as  ever,  and  as  he  limped  to  his 
old  friend,  his  face  wore  a  look  of 


CHAPTER   IV.  45 

intense  agony,  while  he  repeated,  just 
as  his  comrades  had  heard  him  repeat 
an  ^hundred  times,  this  from  Swinburne: 

"Oh,  bitterness  of  things  too  sweet, 
Oh,  broken  singing  of  the  dove. 

Love's  wings  are  over-fleet, 

And  like  the  panther's  feel 
The  feet  of  Love." 

uGood-by,  Jim,"  said  the  visitor,  with 
tears  in  his  voice. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Jim.  Then  glancing 
about,  he  came  closer  and  whispered  : 
"  Don't  let  her  know." 

It  .is  a  quarter  of  a  century  since 
Murie  lost  his  reason  and  was  locked 
up  in  a  mad-house,  and  these  years 
have  wrought  wondrous  changes.  The 
little  projected  line  across  the  plain  has 
become  one  of  the  great  railway  sys- 
tems of  the  earth.  "  Dick,"  the  beardless 
operator  who  gave  Murie  his  orders 
at  Omaha,  is  now  General  Manager 


46  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

Dickinson.  The  delicate  and  spare 
youth,  who  wore  a  Winchester  and  red 
light  at  the  rear  end  of  the  special,  is 
now  General  Superintendent  Deuel,  and 
Creede,  poor  fellow,  he  would  give 
half  of  his  millions  to  be  able  to 
brush  the  mysteries  from  Murie's  mind. 


CHAPTER  V. 

TURNING     PROSPECTOR TRADING     HORSES. 

HAD  N.  C.  Creede  remained  a  poor 
prospector  all  his  days,  these  pages 
would  never  have  been  printed.  That 
is  a  cold,  hard  statement ;  but  it  is 
true.  Shortly  after  the  fickle  Goddess 
of  Fortune  sat  up  a  flirtation  with  the 
patient  prospector,  the  writer  'met  with 
a  gentleman  who  had  served  on  the 
plains  with  the  man  of  whom  you  are 
reading,  and  he  told  some  interesting 
stories.  We  became  very  well  ac- 
quainted and  my  interest  in  the  hunter, 
scout,  prospector  and  miner  increased 
with  every  new  tale  told  by  his  com- 
panion on  the  plains.  Those  who  know 
this  silent  man  of  the  mountains  are 
well  aware  of  his  inborn  modesty  and 


48  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

of  the  reticence  lie  manifests  when  ques- 
tioned about  his  own  personal  experi- 
ences. Hence,  the  writer  as  well  as  the 
reader  must  rely  largely  upon  the  sto- 
ries told  by  his  old  comrade,  the  first 
of  which  was  this  : 

A  large  body  of  Sioux  Indians  were 
camped  near  North  Platte,  Nebraska, 
having  come  there  to  meet  some  peace 
commissioners  sent  out  from  Washing- 
ton. We  were  camped  about  eight 
miles  below  them,  quietly  resting  dur- 
ing the  cessation  of  hostilities,  yet  con- 
stantly on  the  alert  to  guard  against  a 
foray  from  our  foes  above.  The  Sioux 
and  the  Pawnees  were  bitter  enemies, 
constantly  at  war  with  each  other,  and 
as  we  knew  they  were  aware  of  the 
existence  of  our  camp,  we  feared  some 
of  them  might  run  down  and  endeavor 
to  capture  our  stock.  Our  best  scouts 
were  sent  out  every  evening  in  the  di- 


CHAPTER    V.  49 

rection  of  North  Platte  to  note  any 
evidences  of  a  night  raid  that  might 
appear,  and  our  Indians  were  instructed 
to  have  their  arms  in  perfect  order  and 
in  easy  reach  when  they  rolled  up  in 
their  blankets  for  sleep. 

Creede's  horse  had  become  lame  and 
was  next  to  useless  for  field  work.  We 
did  not  have  an  extra  animal  in  camp, 
and  for  three  or  four  days  he  tried 
hard  to  trade  the  crippled  horse  to  an 
Indian  scout  for  a  good  one.  He  of- 
fered extravagant  odds  for  a  trade,  but 
the  Indians  knew  too  well  the  near 
proximity  of  a  natural  enemy  and 
would  take  no  risks  on  being  without 
a  mount  should  trouble  come. 

We  were  sitting  in  the  tent  one  even- 
ing, taking  a  good-night  smoke,  when 
some  one  began  to  chaff  Creed e  about 
his  "  three-legged  horse."  Nick  took  it 
all  good-naturedly,  smiling  in  his  own 


50  .     THE    PROSPECTOR. 

quiet  way  at  our  remarks,  and  soon  he 
sat  with  his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground, 
as  if  in  deep  reflection.  Suddenly  he 
arose,  buckled  on  his  pistols,  picked  up 
his  rifle  and  started  from  the  tent  with- 
out a  word. 

u  Where  are  you  going,  Nick  ?"  some 
one  asked. 

u  Going  to  see  that  the  pickets  are 
out  all  right,"  he  replied,  as  the  tent 
flap  closed  behind  him. 

This  seemed  natural  enough,  and  we 
soon  turned  into  our  blankets  and 
thought  no  more  of  the  matter.  When 
we  rolled  out  at  daybreak  next  morn- 
ing, it  was  noticed  that  Creede's  blan- 
kets had  not  been  used  and  that  he 
was  not  in  the  tent.  One  of  the  boys 
remarked  that  he  had  lain  down  out  in 
the  grass  to  sleep  and  would  put  in  an 
appearance  at  breakfast  time,  and  we  all 
accepted  this  as  the  true  explanation  ol 


CHAPTER    V. 


51 


his  absence.  Half  an  hour  later,  when 
we  were  about  to  eat  breakfast,  one  of 
the  pickets  came  in  and  reported  some- 
thing coming  from  up  the  river.  Our 
field-glasses  soon  demonstrated  the  fact 


that  it  was  a  man  riding  one  horse  and 
leading  four  others.  As  he  came  closer, 
we  recognized  Creede,  and  he  soon  rode 
in,  dismounted  and  began  to  un cinch 
his  saddle,  with  the  quiet  remark  : 


52  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

u  Guess  I  ought  to  get  oue  good 
mount  out  of  this  bunch." 

u  Where  did  you  get  them  ? "  Major 
North  asked. 

"  Up  the  river  a  little  ways." 

"How  did  you  get  up  there  ? 
Walk  ? " 

"  Not  much  I  did  n't.  I  rode  my 
lame  horse." 

"  What  did  you  do  with  your  own 
horse  ? " 

"  Traded  him  for  these  even  up." 

He  had  gone  alone  in  the  night, 
stolen  into  the  herd  of  the  Sioux  near 
North  Platte,  unsaddled  his  lame  horse 
and  placed  the  saddle  on  an  Indian's, 
and,  leading  four  others,  got  away  un- 
observed and  reached  camp  safely.  It 
was  a  bold  and  desperate  undertaking; 
but  one  entirely  in  keeping  with  his  ad- 
venturous spirit. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

INDIANS     OFF     THE     RESERVATION ALONE 

IN    CAMP PROMPT     ACTION. 

DURING  the  summer  of  '68,  a  large 
party  of  Pawnee  Indians,  men  and 
squaws,  left  the  reservation  on  the  Loop 
fork  for  a  buffalo  hunt  in  the  country 
lying  between  the  Platte  and  Republi- 
can Rivers.  These  semi-annual  hunts 
were  events  of  great  interest  to  the 
tribe,  for  by  them  they  not  only  se- 
cured supplies  of  meat,  but  also  large 
numbers  of  robes,  which  were  tanned  by 
the  squaws  and  disposed  of  to  traders 
for  flour  and  groceries,  and  for  any 
other  goods  which  might  strike  the  In- 
dian fancy. 

At   this  time  the  Pawnee   scouts  were 
lying  in    camp   on  Wood  River,  about  a 


53 


54  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

mile  from  the  Union  Pacific  Railroad 
station  of  that  name.  The  hostile 
Indians  had  for  some  weeks  made  no 
aggressive  demonstration,  and  our  duties 
were  scarcely  sufficient  to  edge  up  the 
dull  monotony  of  camp  life.  Once  a 
week  about  half  of  the  company  would 
be  sent  on  a  scout  to  the  west  along 
the  railway,  two  days'  march,  four  days 
of  the  week  being  consumed  by  these 
expeditions. 

Half  of  the  company  had  gone  on  this 
weekly  scout,  leaving  but  one  white  of- 
ficer in  camp,  Lieutenant  Creede.  He 
had,  if  I  recollect  aright,  but  eighteen 
men  fit  for  duty,  a  number  of  others 
being  disabled  by  wounds  received  in 
recent  battles.  The  second  day  after  the 
hunting  party  left,  the  section  men  from 
the  west  came  into  Wood  River  Station 
on  their  hand- car,  and  excitedly  reported 
that  a  band  of  about  fifty  Sioux  had 


CHAPTER    VI.  55 

crossed  the  track  near  them,  headed 
south.  Joe  Adams  was  the  agent  at 
Wood  River,  and  he  at  once  sent  a 
messenger  to  the  Pawnee  camp  to  tell 
Lieutenant  Creede  of  the  presence  of 
the  hostiles.  Creede  hastily  mounted 
his  handful  of  warriors,  and  in  less  than 
twenty  minutes  was  dashing  forward  on 
the  trail  of  the  Sioux.  The  time  con- 
sumed by  the  section  men  in  running 
into  the  station,  a  distance  of  about  four 
miles,  and  the  consequent  delay  caused 
by  sending  the  news  to  Creede,  and  the 
catching  up  and  saddling  of  the  ponies 
had  given  the  Sioux  a  good  start,  and 
when  the  scouts  had  reached  the  Platte 
the  hostiles  had  crossed  over  and  were 
concealed  from  view  in  the  sand-hills 
beyond. 

Crossing  the  wide  stream  with  all  pos- 
sible haste,  the  game  little  ponies,  strug- 
gling with  the  treacherous  quicksand  for 


56  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

which  that  historic  river  is  noted,  the 
scouts  struck  the  trail  on  the  opposite 
bank  and  pushed  rapidly  forward. 
Although  they  knew  that  the  Sioux 
outnumbered  them  three  to  one,  the 
Pawnees  were  eager  for  the  fra^ — an 
eagerness  shared  in  by  their  intrepid 
commander.  Chanting  their  war- songs, 
their  keen  eyes  scanning  the  country 
ahead  from  the  summit  of  each  sand- 
hill, they  pushed  onward  with  the 
remorseless  persistence  of  blood-hounds 
up  the  trail  of  fleeing  fugitives. 

About  three  miles  from  the  river,  on 
reaching  the  top  of  a  sand -hill,  the  en- 
emy was  discovered  a  mile  ahead,  mov- 
ing carelessly  along,  oblivious  of  the  fact 
that  they  were  being  pursued.  Con- 
cealed by  the  crest  of  the  hill,  the 
Pawnees  halted  to  view  the  situation, 
and  Lieutenant  Creede  covered  the  hos- 
tiles  with  his  field-glass.  An  inipreca- 


CHAPTER    VI.  57 

tion  came  from  his  lips  as  he  studied 
the  scene  in  front,  and  crying  out  a 
sentence  in  the  Pawnee  tongue,  his  war- 
riors crowded  about  him.  His  experi- 
enced eye  had  shown  him  that  they 
were  ^Yankton  Indians,  then  at  peace 
with  the  whites.  He  took  in  the  situa- 
tion in  a  moment.  They  had  learned 
of  the  departure  of  the  Pawnee  village 
on  a  buffalo  hunt,  and  were  after  them 
to  stampede  and  capture  their  horses, 
kill  all  of  their  hated  enemy  they  could 
and  escape  back  to  their  reservation. 

All  this  he  told  to  his  warriors,  and 
the  field-glass  in  the  hands  of  various 
members  of  the  party  corroborated  the 
fact  that,  as  United  States  scouts,  they 
had  no  right  to  molest  the  Yaukton 
bands.  The  impetuous  warriors  chafed 
like  caged  lions,  and  demanded  in  vigor- 
ous terms  that  the  chase  should  be  re- 
sumed. One  cool-headed  old  man,  a 


58  THE  PROSPECTOR. 

chief  of  some  importance  in  the  tribe, 
addressed  Lieutenant  Creede  substan- 
tially as  follows  : 

"Father;  you  are  a  white  man,  an 
officer  under  the  great  war  chief  at 
Washington,  and  you  would  rouse  his 
anger  by  battling  with  Indians  not  at 
war  with  him  and  his  soldiers.  We  are 
Pawnee  Indians,  and  the  men  yonder 
are  our  hated  foes.  They  go  to  attack 
our  people,  to  kill  our  fathers,  sons, 
brothers,  the  squaws  and  children,  and 
steal  their  horses.  It  is  our  duty  to 
protect  our  people.  It  is  not  your  duty 
to  help  us.  Go  back,  father,  to  our 
camp,  and  we,  not  as  soldiers,  but  as 
Indians,  will  push  on  to  the  defense  of 
our  people.  Listen  to  the  words  of  wis- 
dom and  go  back." 

The  situation  was  a  trying  one.  The 
Lieutenant  well  knew  that  if  lie  led  his 
scouts  against  the  Yanktons  he  would 


CHAPTER   VI.  59 

have  to  face  serious  trouble  at  Wash- 
ington and  meet  with  severe  censure 
from  General  Augur,  then  commanding 
the  Department  of  the  Platte.  He  real- 
ized that  his  official  position  would  be 
endangered,  and  that  he  might  even 
subject  himself  to  arrest  and  trial  in 
the  United  States  Courts  for  his  action. 
For  some  moments  he  stood  with  his  eyes 
bent  upon  the  ground  in  deep  reflec- 
tion, the  Indians  eying  him  keenly  and 
almost  breathlessly  awaiting  his  reply. 
It  was  a  tableau,  thrilling,  well  worthy 
the  brush  of  a  painter.  The  hideously 
painted  faces  of  the  Indians  scowling 
with  rage  ;  their  blazing,  eager  eyes  re- 
flecting the  spirit  of  impatience  which 
swayed  their  savage  souls  ;  the  hardy, 
faithful  ponies  cropping  at  the  scant 
grass  which  had  pierced  the  sand  ;  the 
Lieutenant  standing  as  immovable  as 
a  rock,  his  face  betraying  no  trace  of 


00  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

excitement,  calmly,  silently  gazing  at  the 
ground,  carefully  weighing  the  responsi- 
bilities resting  upon  him, — all  went  to 
make  up  a  picture  so  intensely  thrilling 
that  the  mind  can  scarcely  grasp  its 
wild  features. 

When  the  Lieutenant  spoke,  he  did  so 
quietly  and  calmly.  There  was  a  light 
in  his  eyes  which  boded  no  good  to  the 
pursued,  but  his  voice  betrayed  not  the 
least  excitement.  He  said  : 

u  For  several  years  I  have  been  with 
you — have  been  one  of  you.  We  have 
often  met  the  enemy  in  unequal  num- 
bers, but  we  have  never  been  defeated. 
In  all  the  battles  in  which  I  have  led 
you,  you  never  deserted  me.  Should  I 
desert  you  now  ?  I  know  that  I  will 
be  censured,  perhaps  punished,  but  those 
Yanktons  shall  never  harm  your  people. 

1  will  lead  you  against  them  as  I  would 
against  a   hostile  band,  and  on  me  will 


CHAPTER  VI.  61 

rest  all  the  responsibility.  We  go  now 
as  Pawnee  Indians,  not  as  United  States 
scouts,  and  go  to  fight  for  our  people. 
Mount  ! " 

Grunts  of  satisfaction  greeted  his 
words.  They  would  have  been  followed 
by  wild  yells  of  savage  delight  had 
there  been  no  fear  of  such  a  demon- 
stration disclosing  their  presence  to 
the  Yanktons.  Horses  were  quickly 
mounted,  and  the  band  again  took  the 
trail  with  an  impatience  which  could 
scarcely  be  curbed. 

The  Yanktons  were  soon  again 
sighted,  and  the  scouts  adopted  the 
Indian  tactics  of  stealing  upon  there 
foes.  Skirting  the  bases  of  sand-hills, 
keeping  from  sight  in  low  grounds 
and  following  the  bed  of  gulches,  they 
pressed  on,  until  the  enemy  was  dis- 
covered less  than  three- fourths  of  a 


62  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

mile  ahead,  and  yet  unconscious  of  the 
presence  of  a  foe. 

Halting  in  a  low  spot  in  the  hills, 
the  Pawnees  hastily  unsaddled  their 
ponies  and  stripped  for  the  fight.  In- 
dians invariably  go  into  a  battle  on 
bareback  horses,  as  saddles  impede  the 
speed  of  the  animals  in  quick  move- 
ments. When  again  mounted,  the  Lieu- 
tenant gave  the  command  to  advance. 
On  reaching  the  crest  of  a  sand-hill, 
the  Pawnees  discovered  their  enemy 
just  gaining  the  summit  of  the  .next, 
about  five  hundred  yards  distant.  The 
Yanktons  discovered  their  pursuers  at 
t]je  same  moment,  and  great  commo- 
tion was  observed  in  their  ranks.  They 
hastily  formed  themselves  for  battle, 
and  then  one  of  them  who  could  speak 
English,  cried  out  : 

"  Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you 
want  ? " 


CHAPTER   VI.  63 

"  We  are  Pawnee  Indians,  and  we 
want  to  know  where  you  are  going," 
Creede  shouted  in  reply. 

"You  are  Pawnee  scouts,  and  are 
soldiers  of  the  United  States.  We  are 
Yank  ton  Sioux  at  peace  with  the  Gov- 
ernment, and  you  cannot  molest  us." 

"You  are  moving  against  the  Paw- 
nee village,  now  on  a  buffalo  hunt," 
Creede  replied.  "  You  want  to  kill 
our  people  and  steal  their  horses.  We 
are  Pawnee  Indians,  and  are  here  to 
fight  for  our  people.  If  you  take  the 
trail  back  across  the  Platte,  we  will 
not  disturb  you,  but  if  you  attempt  to 
move  forward,  we  will  fight  you.  De- 
cide quick  !" 

The  leaders  of  the  Yankton  band 
gathered  about  the  interpreter  in  coun- 
cil, while  Creede  interpreted  what  had 
been  said  to  his  warriors.  It  was 
with  difficulty  he  could  restrain  them 


64  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

from  dashing  forward  to  the  attack. 
In  a  few  moments  the  Yanktori  in- 
terpreter shouted  : 

"  If  you  attack  us,  the  Government 
will  punish  you  and  reward  us  for 
our  loss.  We  do  not  fear  you  as 
Pawnees,  but  we  are  at  peace  and  do 
not  want  to  fight  you  because  you  are 
soldiers  of  the  great  father  at  Wash- 
ington. We  are  many  and  you  are 
few,  and  we  could  soon  kill  you  all, 
or  drive  you  back  to  your  camp.  Go 
away  and  let  us  alone." 

"  You  are  the  enemy  of  our  peo- 
ple, and  you  go  to  kill  them,"  the 
Lieutenant  replied.  "  We  will  fight 
for  them,  not  as  soldiers,  but  as  Paw- 
nees. You  must  make  a  move  now, 
instantly.  We  will  wait  but  a  minute. 
If  you  take  the  back  trail,  it  will  be 
good.  If  you  move  forward,  we  will 
make  you  halt  and  go  back." 


CHAPTER   VI.  65 

The  only  reply  was  a  command 
from  the  Yankton  leader  to  his  fol- 
lowers, in  obedience  to  which  they 
started  forward  in  their  original  direc- 
tion. Creede  shouted  a  command  to 
his  men,  and  with  wild  yells  they 
dashed  down  the  slope  and  up  the 
side  of  the  hill  on  which  their  enemy 
had  last  been  seen.  On  a  level  flat 
beyond  the  hill,  the  Yanktons  were 
found  hastily  forming  for  battle,  and 
with  tiger-like  impetuosity,  the  scouts 
dashed  forward,  firing  as  they  advanced. 

The  wild  dash  of  the  Pawnees 
seemed  to  bewilder  the  Yanktons,  and 
they  were  thrown  into  confusion.  They 
quickly  rallied,  however,  and  for  fully 
an  half-hour  they  fought  desperately. 
The  mad  impetuosity  of  the  Pawnee 
again  threw  them  into  confusion,  and 
scattering  like  frightened  sheep,  they 
fled  from  the  field.  The  Pawnees 


66  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

pursued  them,  and  a  running  fight  was 
maintained  over  several  miles  of  coun- 
try. The  Yanktons  were  at  last  so 
scattered  that  they  could  make  no 
show  of  resistance,  and  with  all  possi- 
ble speed  sought  the  river  crossing 
and  fled  toward  their  agency.  It  was 
afterwards  learned  that  they  sustained 
a  loss  of  eight  killed  and  quite  a 
large  number  wounded.  The  Pawnees 
lost  but  one  man  killed,  but  many 
were  wounded  on  the  field.  Several 
horses  were  killed.  Creede's  army 
blouse  was  riddled  with  bullets  and 
arrows. 

Returning  from  the  field,  u  Bob 
White,"  a  Pawnee,  reached  Wood  River 
in  advance  of  the  scouts,  and  by  mak- 
ing motions  as  of  a  man  falling  from  a 
horse,  and  repeating  the  word,  "  Lieu- 
tenant," created  the  impression  that 
Creede  had  been  killed,  and  the  agent 


CHAPTER   VI.  67 

telegraphed  the  news  to  Omaha,  where 
it  was  published  in  the  daily  papers. 
When  the  scouts  reached  the  station, 
however,  the  gallant  Lieutenant  was  at 
their  head.  When  he  dismounted,  it 
was  observed  that  he  limped  painfully, 
and  in  explanation  said,  that  in  one  of 
the  charges  his  horse  had  fallen  upon 
him,  severely  bruising  and  spraining 
one  of  his  legs.  This  was  what  "Bob" 
had  tried  to  tell,  but  the  agent  inter- 
preted his  signs  to  mean  that  the  in- 
trepid leader  had  been  killed  in  battle. 
When  the  Yanktons  reached  their 
agency,  they  reported  that  while  quietly 
moving  across  the  country,  the  Pawnee 
scouts,  being  in  the  service  of  the  United 
States,  had  attacked  them  in  overwhelm- 
ing numbers  and  driven  them  back  to 
their  reservation.  The  matter  was  laid 
before  the  authorities  at  Washington, 
referred  to  General  Augur,  and  by  him 


68  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

to  Major  North,  who  was  already  in 
possession  of  Creede's  explanation  of  the 
affair.  Considerable  red-tape  correspond- 
ence followed,  and  as  the  Yanktons 
were  off  their  reservation  without  per- 
mission, and  in  direct  violation  of 
orders,  the  matter  was  allowed  to  drop. 
Creede  was  doubly  a  hero  in  the  eyes 
of  his  scouts  after  this  episode,  and 
when  the  Pawnee  village  returned,  and 
it  was  learned  how  the  Lieutenant  had 
battled  in  their  behalf,  they  bestowed 
upon  him  the  most  marked  expressions 
of  gratitude  and  adoration. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TEAIL  OF  INDIAN  PONY  TRACKS  -  DESPER- 
ATE ENCOUNTER  -  HARD  TO  MAKE  THE 
SCOUTS  BELIEVE  HIS  STORY. 


of  the  most  daring  acts  in  the 
history  of  this  daring  man  was  com- 
mitted in  Western  Nebraska  in  1866. 
From  boyhood  days,  he  had  been  noted 
as  a  hunter,  and  during  the  years  which 
he  spent  in  the  scouting  service,  his 
splendid  marksmanship  and  extraordi- 
nary achievements  in  the  pursuit  of 
game  earned  for  him  the  reputation  of 
being  the  best  hunter  west  of  the  Mis- 
souri River.  His  success  in  that  line 
was  phenomenal  and  elicited  expressions 
of  surprise  from  all  who  had  a  knowl- 
edge of  his  work,  and  from  those  who 
were  told  of  it. 


70  THE  PROSPECTOR. 

Killing  buffalo  was  not  regarded  by 
Creede,  or  by  any  of  the  hunters,  as  the 
best  evidence  of  skill  in  marksmanship 
or  in  hunting.  Any  one  who  could  ride 
a  horse  and  fire  a  rifle  or  revolver 
could  kill  those  clumsy,  shaggy  animals 
much  easier  than  they  could  pursue  and 
kill  the  ordinary  steers  on  the  western 
ranges  to-day.  In  fact,  the  range  steer 
is  a  far  more  dangerous  animal  when 
enraged  than  was  the  buffalo,  for  it 
possesses  greater  activity,  and  is  more 
fleet  of  foot.  The  men  who  have 
gained  notoriety  on  account  of  the 
number  of  buffalo  they  have  killed  are 
looked  upon  with  quiet  contempt  by 
the  true  hunters  of  the  plains  and 
mountains,  who  justly  claim  that  hunt- 
ing excellence  can  only  be  shown  in  the 
still  hunt,  where  tact  and  skill  are  re- 
quired to  approach  within  shooting  dis- 
tance of  the  elk,  deer  or  antelope,  and 


CHAPTER    VII.  71 

proficient  marksmanship  is  necessary  to 
kill  it.  When  buffalo  were  plenty  on 
the  western  plains,  it  was  not  at  all 
unusual  for  women  to  ride  after  and 
kill  them,  and  incur  little,  if  any,  risk 
of  personal  danger.  Miss  Emma  Wood- 
ruff, a  school  teacher  on  Wood  River  in 
the  sixties,  and  who  afterwards  married 
a  telegraph  operator  at  Wood  River 
Station,  became  quite  noted  as  a  buffalo 
hunter,  and  regarded  it  but  as  an  ordi- 
nary achievement  to  mount  her  pony 
and  kill  one  of  the  shaggy  monsters. 
The  long-haired  showmen  who  infest 
the  country  and  tell  thrilling  stories  of 
their  desperate  adventures  and  narrow 
escapes  while  hunting  the  buffalo,  draw 
largely  upon  their  imagination  for  bait 
to  throw  out  to  the  gullible.  No  one 

in   a    dozen  of    them    ever  reached     the 

» 

west  bank  of  the  Missouri  River. 
Every  frontier  man  will  agree  that  the 


72  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

so-called  scouts,  cowboys  and  Indian 
fighters  who  pose  in  dime  museums, 
dime  novels  or  behind,  theatrical  foot- 
lights, are  in  nearly  every  instance  the 
most  shameless  frauds,  whose  long  hair 
and  unlimited  u  gall "  make  them  heroes 
in  unexperienced  eyes.  Since  the  death 
of  Kit  Carson,  but  one  long-haired  man 
has  earned  a  reputation  as  a  scout,  and 
while  he  was  once,  for  a  brief  season, 
allured  into  the  dramatic  business,  and 
now  gives  platform  entertainments  when 
his  duties  will  permit  him  to  do  so,  he 
is  not  a  showman,  but  is  yet  in  Govern- 
ment employ.  He  is  a  trusted  secret 
agent  of  the  Department  of  Justice,  and 
is  engaged  in  a  calling  almost  as  dan- 
gerous as  was  his  scouting  service — that 
of  running  down  the  desperate  men 
who  are  engaged  in  selling  \liquor  to 
Indians.  Long  hair  is  the  exception 
and  not  the  rule  among  scouts,  and  a 


CHAPTER    VII.  73 

cowboy  who  permits  his  locks  to  cluster 
over  his  shoulders  is  laughed  at  by  his 
fellow  knights  of  the  saddle  and  classed 
as  a  crank. 

You  shall  read  this  story  as  it  fell 
from  Creede's  own  lips  when  I  pressed 
him  to  tell  it  to  me.  It  was  this  in- 
cident which  first  gained  from  him  the 
full  confidence  and  unstinted  admira- 
tion of  the  Indian  scouts  : 

u  Game,  through  some  cause,  was  very 
scarce  near  our  camp,  and  one  day  I 
saddled  my  favorite  horse  and  rode 
southward,  determined  to  get  meat  of 
some  kind  before  returning.  I  went 
about  fifteen  miles  from  camp,  and 
after  hunting  some  four  or  five  hours 
without  success,  made  up  my  mind  the 
game  had  all  left  the  country.  I  started 
to  return  by  a  circuitous  route,  desiring 
to  cover  as  large  a  scope  of  country  as 
possible,  and  get  some  meat  if  it  was 


74  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

at  all  to  be  found.  After  traveling 
perhaps  an  hour  through  the  sand-hills, 
I  came  upon  a  fresh  trail  of  pony 
tracks,  and  I  knew  the  tracks  were 
made  by  Indian  ponies,  and  hostile 
Indians,  too,  for  none  of  our  scouts 
were  away  from  camp.  I  determined 
to  follow  the  trail  and  ascertain  if  the 
ponies  all  bore  riders,  and,  if  possible, 
to  get  close  enough  unobserved  to  see 
from  the  appearance  of  the  Indians  w^ho 
they  were,  and  if  it  was  a  hunting  or 
war  party.  They  were  headed  in  the 
direction  in  which  I  desired  to  go,  and 
after  tightening  up  my  saddle  cinches 
and  looking  to  see  if  my  pistols  were 
in  order,  I  took  the  trail.  I  judged 
from  the  trail  that  there  were  about 
twenty -five  or  thirty  Indians  in  the 
party,  and  I  soon  learned  that  my  esti- 
mate was  a  nearly  correct  one. 

"  When  I  reached  the  top  of  the  first 


CHAPTER  VII. 


75 


little  hill  ahead  of  me,  I  came  in  full 
view  of  the  party  not  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  distant.  They  saw 
me  at  the  same  time,  as  I  knew  from 
the  confusion  in  their  ranks.  I  tell 
you,  in  a  case  of  that  kind,  one  wants 
to  do  some  quick  thinking,  and  if  ever 
a  man  jogged  his  brain  for  a  scheme 
to  get  out  of  an  ugly  scrape,  I  did 
right  then  and  there.  If  I  tried  to 
run,  I  knew  they  would  scatter  and  get 
me,  and  in  less  time  than  it 
takes  me  to  tell 
it,  I  had  made 
my  plan  and 
started  to  put 


76  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

it  into  execution.  I  saw  that  my  only 
chance,  though  a  desperate  one,  would 
be  to  make  them  believe  I  was  ahead 
of  a  party  in  their  pursuit,  and 
taking  off  my  hat,  I  made  frantic 
motions  to  the  rear,  as  if  hurrying  up 
a  body  of  troops,  and  then,  putting 
spurs  to  my  horse,  dashed  right  toward 
them,  and  when  close  enough,  began 
firing  at  them  with  my  rifle.  The 
scheme  worked  beautifully,  for  without 
firing  a  shot,  they  seemed  to  become 
terror-stricken  and  fled  on  through  the 
hills.  The  course  lay  through  low  sand- 
hills which  often  concealed  them  from 
view,  but  I  pressed  on,  firing  at  every 
chance.  I  chased  them  for  fully  three 
miles  ;  two  of  them  died  and  I  captured 
three  ponies  which  fell  behind,  and  then 
left  the  trail  and  made  for  camp.  I 
found  it  hard  to  make  the  scouts  be- 
lieve my  story,  and  some  of  them  quite 


CHAPTER  VII.  77 

plainly  hinted  that  I  had  found  the 
ponies  in  the  hills  and  had  seen  no 
Indians.  I  saw  at  once  that  they 
doubted  me,  and  determined  to  con- 
vince them  of  the  truth  of  what  I  had 
told  them.  The  next  morning  I  took  a 
dozen  or  more  of  them  and  went  back 
to  the  scene  of  the  chase,  and  we  were 
not  long  in  finding  all  the  coyotes  had 
left  of  the  two  bodies. 

"  That  affair  firmly  established  my 
reputation  with  the  scouts,  and  ever 
after  they  fully  relied  on  my  judgment 
as  a  war  chief.  Through  all  our  future 
operations,  they  trusted  me  implicitly, 
and  would  follow  me  any  place  I  chose 
to  lead  them." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WHEN      NEW      FLOWERS      BLOOM       ON       THE 

GRAVES     OF     OTHER     ROSES PLUNKETY 

PLUNK      OF      UNSHOD      FEET  —  HE      HAD 
RECKONED     WELL. 

IN  the  early  springtime,  at  that  time 
of  the  year  when  all  the  world  grows 
glad  ;  when  the  green  grass  springs 
from  the  cold,  brown  earth  ;  when  new 
flowers  bloom  on  the  graves  of  other 
roses  ;  when  every  animal,  man,  bird  and 
beast,  each  to  his  own  kind  turns  with 
a  look  of  love  and  tender  sympathy, 
we  find  the  restless  Red  Men  of  the 
Plains  on  the  war-path. 

One  day  at  sunset,  Lieutenant  Creed e 
rode  out  from  Ogallala,  where  the  scouts 
were  stationed,  guarding  the  railway 

builders.     It    was    customary    for     some 

78 


CHAPTER    VIII.  79 

one  to  take  a  look  about  at  the  close 
of  day,  to  see  if  any  stray  Sioux 
were  prowling  around.  About  six  miles 
from  camp,  he  came  to  a  clump  of 
trees  covering  a  half  dozen  acres  of 
ground.  Through  this  grove  the  scout 
rode,  thinking  perhaps  an  elk  or  deer 
might  be  seen  ;  but  nothing  worth 
shooting  was  sighted,  till  suddenly  he 
found  himself  at  the  farther  edge  of  the 
wood  and  on  the  banks  of  the  Platte. 
Looking  across  the  stream,  he  saw  a 
small  band  of  hostile  Sioux  riding  in 
the  direction  of  the  river,  and  not  more 
than  a  mile  away.  His  field-glasses 
showed  him  that  there  were  seven  of 
the  Sioux,  and  without  the  aid  of  that 
instrument,  he  could  see  that  they  had 
a  majority  of  six  over  his  party.  They 
were  riding  slowly  in  the  direction  of 
the  camp.  Creede  concluded  that  they 
intended  to  cross  over,  kill  the  guards, 


80  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

and  capture  the  Government  horses. 
His  first  thought  was  to  ride  back  to 
camp,  keeping  the  clump  of  trees  be- 
tween him  and  the  Indians,  and 
arrange  a  reception  for  the  Sioux. 

The  river  was  half  a  mile  wide  and 
three  feet  deep.  Horses  can't  travel 
very  rapidly  in  three  feet  of  water. 

In  a  short  time  they  had  reached  the 
waters  edge  and  the  scout  could  hardly 
resist  the  temptation  to  await  their 
approach,  dash  out,  take  a  shot  at 
them,  and  then  return  to  camp.  That 
was  dangerous,  he  thought  ;  for,  if  he 
got  one,  there  would  still  be  a  half  a 
dozen  bullets  to  dodge.  A  better  plan 
would  be  to  leave  his  horse  in  the 
grove,  crawl  out  to  the  bank,  lie  con- 
cealed in  the  grass  until  the  enemy  was 
within  sixty  yards  of  him,  then  stand 
up  and  work  his  Winchester.  The  first 
shot  would  surprise  them.  They  would 


CHAPTER    VIII.  81 

all  look  at  their  falling  friend  ;  the 
second  would  show  them  where  he  was, 
and  the  third  shot  would  leave  but 
four  Indians.  By  the  time  they  swung 
their  rifles  up  another  would  have 
passed  to  the  Happy  Land,  and  one 
man  on  shore,  with  his  rifle  working, 
was  as  good  as  three  frightened  Indians 
in  the  middle  of  the  river. 

Thus  reasoned  the  scout,  and  he 
crept  to  the  shore  of  the  stream.  He 
had  no  time  to  lose,  as  the  Indian 
ponies  had  finished  drinking  and  were 
already  on  the  move. 

As  the  sound  of  the  sinking  feet  of 
the  horses  grew  louder,  the  hunter  was 
obliged  to  own  a  feeling  of  regret.  If 
he  could  have  gotten  back  to  his  horse 
without  them  seeing  him,  he  thought 
it  would  be  as  well  to  return  to 
camp  and  receive  the  visitors  there. 
Just  once  he  lifted  his  head  above  the 


82  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

grass,  and  then  he  saw  how  useless  it 
would  be  to  attempt  to  fly,  for  the 
Indians  were  but  a  little  more  than  a 
hundred  yards  away.  Realizing  that 
he  was  in  for  it,  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  remain  in  the  grass  until  the 
Sioux  were  so  near  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  miss  them.  Nearer  and 
nearer  sounded  the  plunkety-plunk  of 
the  unshod  feet  of  the  little  horses  in 
the  shallow  stream,  till  at  last  they 
seemed  to  be  in  short-rifle  range,  and 
the  trained  hunter  sprang  to  his  feet. 
He  had  reckoned  well,  for  the  Indians 
were  not  over  sixty  yards  away,  riding 
tandem.  Creede's  rifle  echoed  in  the 
little  grove  ;  the  lead  leaped  out  and 
the  head  Indian  pitched  forward  into 
the  river.  The  riderless  horse  stopped 
short.  The  rifle  cracked  again,  and 
the  second  Red  Man  rolled  slowly 
from  the  saddle  ;  so  slowly  that  he 


CHAPTER    VIII.  83 

barely  got  out  of  the  way  in  time  to 
permit  the  next  brave,  who  was  almost 
directly  behind  him,  to  get  killed  when 
it  was  his  turn.  The  remaining  four 
Indians,  instead  of  returning  the  fire, 
sat  still  and  stone -like,  so  terrified 
were  they  that  they  never  raised  a 
hand.  Two  more  seconds  ;  two  more 
shots  from  the  trusty  rifle  of  the  scout 
and  two  more  Indians  went  down,  head 
first,  into  the  stream.  Panic-stricken, 
the  other  two  dropped  into  the  river 
and  began  to  swim  down  stream  with 
all  their  might.  They  kept  an  eye  on 
the  scout  and  at  the  flash  of  his  gun 
they  ducked  their  heads  and  the  ball 
bounded  away  over  the  still  water. 
Soon  they  were  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  rifle.  Returning  to  their  own  side 
of  the  river,  they  crept  away  in  the 
twilight,  and  the  ever  sad  and  thought- 
ful scout  stood  still  by  the  silent 


84  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

stream,  watching  the  little  red  pools  of 
blood  on  the  broad  bosom  of  the 
slowly  running  river. 

Three  of  the  abandoned  bronchos 
turned  back.  Four  crossed  over  to 
Creede  and  were  taken  to  camp. 

The  two  sad  and  lonely  Sioux  had 
gone  but  a  short  distance  from  the 
river,  when  one  of  them  fell  fainting 
and  soon  bled  to  death.  He  had  been 
wounded  by  a  bullet  which  had  passed 
through  one  of  his  companions  who 
was  killed  in  the  stream.  -The  remain- 
ing Indian  was  afterwards  captured  in 
battle  and  he  told  this  story  to  his 
captors,  just  as  it  was  told  to  the 
writer  by  the  man  who  risked  his  life 
so  fearlessly  in  the  service  of  Uncle 
Sam, 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SIT-TA-KE-KIT  SCALPED  ALIVE AN  IN- 
DIAN NEVER  CAKES  TO  LIVE  AFTER  HE 
HAS  LOST  HIS  SCALP. 

DURING  the  month  of  May,  1865, 
the  scouts  were  given  permission 
to  go  with  the  Pawnees  on  their  annual 
buffalo  hunt.  The  Pawnees  were  greatly 
pleased,  for  where  there  are  buffaloes 
there  are  Indians;  and  the  Sioux  were 
ever  on  the  lookout  for  an  opportunity 
to  drop  in  on  the  Pawnees  when  they 
were  least  expected.  Late  one  after- 
noon a  party,  eight  in  number,  of  the 
scouts  became  separated  from  the  main 
force  during  the  excitement  incident  to 
a  chase  after  buffaloes;  and,  before  they 
had  the  slightest  hint  of  danger,  were 
completely  surrounded  by  a  band  of  at 

85 


86  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

least  two  hundred  Sioux,  The  hunters 
were  in  a  small  basin  in  the  sand-hills 
while  the  low  bluffs  fairly  bristled  with 
feathers.  The  Sioux  would  dash  for- 
ward, shoot,  and  then  retreat.  Lieuten- 
ant Creede,  two  other  white  men  and 
five  Pawnees  composed  the  party  of 
scouts.  This  little  band  formed  a  circle 
of  their  horses,  but  at  the  first  charge 
of  the  savage  Sioux,  the  poor  animals 
sank  to  the  sand  and  died.  The  scouts 
now  crouched  by  the  dead  horses,  and 
half  a  dozen  Sioux  fell  during  the  next 
charge.  One  savage  who  appeared  to 
be  more  fearless  than  the  rest,  dashed 
forward,  evidently  intending  to  ride 
over  the  little  band  of  scouts.  Alas 
for  him!  there  were  besides  the  Lieuten- 
ant, three  sure  shots  in  that  little  circle, 
and  before  this  daring  brave  had  gotten 
within  fifty  yards  of  the  horse -works,  a 
bullet  pierced  his  brain.  Instead  of 


CHAPTER   IX.  87 

dropping  to  the  ground  and  dying  as 
most  men  do,  this  Indian  began  to  leap 
and  bound  about,  exactly  like  a  chicken 
with  its  head  cut  off,  never  stopping 
until  he  rolled  down  within  fifteen  feet 
of  the  scouts. 

There  was  a  boy  in  Creede's  party, 
Sit-ta-re-kit  by  name,  a  very  intelligent 
Pawnee,  eighteen  years  old,  who  had 
gone  with  the  Lieutenant  to  Washing- 
ton to  see  the  President  of  the  United 
States.  There  seemed  to  be  no  shadow 
of  hope  for  the  scouts  ;  and  this  young 
man  started  to  run.  Inasmuch  as  he 
started  in  the  direction  of  the  camp, 
which  was  but  a  mile  away,  it  is  but 
fair  to  suggest  that  he  may  have  taken 
this  fatal  step  with  the  hope  of  notify- 
ing the  Pawnees  of  the  state  of  affairs. 
This  was  the  opinion  of  Lieutenant 
Creede ;  while  others  thought  he  was 
driven  wild  by  the  desperate  surround- 


88 


THE   PROSPECTOR. 


ings.  He  had  gone  less  than  a  hun- 
dred yards  when  a  Sioux  rode  up  be- 
side him  and  felled  him  to  the  ground 
with  a  war  club.  The  young  scout 
started  to  rise,  was  on  his  knees,  when 


the  Sioux,  having  dismounted,  reached 
for  the  scout's  hair  with  his  left  hand. 
All  this  was  seen  by  the  boy's  compan- 
ions. 

uOh,  it  was  awful!"  said  Creede,  re- 
lating this  story  to  the  writer.  "  We 
had  been  together  so  much.  He  was 


CHAPTER    IX.  89 

so  brave,  so  honest  and  so  good.  Of 
course,  he  was  only  an  Indian;  but  I 
had  learned  to  love  him,  and  when  I 
saw  the  steel  blade  glistening  in  the 
setting  sun — saw  the  savage  at  one 
swift  stroke  sever  the  scalp  from  that 
brave  boy's  head,  I  was  sick  at  heart." 
After  he  had  been  scalped,  the  boy  got 
up  and  walked  on,  right  by  the  savage 
Sioux.  He  was  safe  enough  now. 
Nothing  on  earth  would  tempt  an  In- 
dian to  touch  a  man  who  had  been 
scalped,  not  even  to  kill  him. 

A  Pawnee  squaw  was  working  in  the 
field  one  day  when  a  Sioux  came  clown 
and  scalped  her.  She  knew  if  she  re- 
turned to  her  people  she  would  be 
killed.  It  was  not  fashionable  to  keep 
short-haired  women  about;  and,  in  her 
desperate  condition,  she  wandered  back 
to  the  agency.  The  agent  was  sorry 
for  her  and  he  took  her  in  and  cured 


90  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

her  head  and  sent  her  back  to  her  peo- 
ple. But  they  killed  her;  she  had 
been  scalped. 

But  let  us  return  to  the  little  band 
in  the  basin  surrounded  by  the  Sioux. 
It  is  indeed  a  small  band  now.  Four 
of  them  are  dead,  one  scalped  and  gone  ; 
but  as  often  as  their  Winchesters  bark, 
a  Sioux  drops.  There  was  nothing  left 
for  them  now  but  to  fight  on  to  the 
end. 

Death  in  this  way  was  better  than 
being  burned  alive.  There  was  no 
hope — not  a  shadow;  for,  how  were 
they  to  know  that  one  of  their  com- 
panions had  seen  the  Sioux  surround 
them  and  that  the  whole  force  of  Paw- 
nee scouts  were  riding  to  the  relief  of 
this  handful  of  men,  who  were  amusing 
themselves  at  rifle  practice  while  they 
waited  for  death. 

With   a  wild  yell,  they  dashed   down 


CHAPTER    IX.  91 

upon  the  murderous  Sioux,  and,  without 
firing  a  shot,  they  fled  from  the  field, 
leaving  thirteen  unlucky  Indians  upon 
the  battle  ground. 

The  brave  boy  never  returned.  He 
took  his  own  life,  perhaps  ;  for  an  In- 
dian never  cares  to  live  after  he  has 
lost  his  scalp,  knowing  that  his  com- 
panions look  upon  him  as  they  look 
upon  the  dead. 


CHAPTER  X. 

LOYAL   IN   FRIENDSHIP,   TRUE   TO   A 
TRUST A   CRUEL   CAPTAIN. 

C.  CREEDE,  the  Prince  of  Pros- 
pectors  and  new-made  million- 
aire, is  one  of  the  gentlest  men  I  have 
ever  met,  notwithstanding  most  of  his 
life  has  been  spent  in  scenes  not  con- 
ducive to  gentleness.  His  -friendship  is 
loyal  and  lasting  ;  and  he  is  as  true  to 
a  trust  as  the  sunflower  is  to  the  sun. 
Although  a  daring  scout  and  fearless 
Indian  fighter,  he  is  as  tender  and  sym- 
pathic  as  the  hero  of  the  "  Llglit  of 
Asia" 

Creed e  and  I  were  traveling  by  the 
same  train  one  day,  when  he  asked  me 
if  I  knew  a  certain  soldier-man — a 
Captain  Somebody;  and  I  said,  "  No." 


CHAPTER  X.  93 

"  I  raised  my  rifle  to  kill  him  one 
day  and  an  Indian  saved  his  life,"  said 
he,  musingly. 

I  looked  at  the  sad  face  of  my  com- 
panion in  great  surprise.  I  could 
hardly  believe  him  capable  of  taking  a 
human  life,  and  I  asked  him  to  tell  me 
the  story. 

"  It  was  in  '65,  I  believe,"  he  began. 
"  We  had  just  captured  a  village  on  a 
tributary  of  the  Yellowstone,  and  were 
returning  to  our  quarters  on  Pole 
Creek.  Just  before  going  into  camp, 
we  came  upon  five  stray  Sioux,  who 
had  been  hunting  and  were  returning 
to  their  camp  on  foot.  Two  of  the 
Sioux  were  killed  and  three  captured. 
On  the  following  morning,  General 
Augur,  who  was  in  command,  gave 
orders  to  my  Captain  to  take  thirty 
picked  scouts  and  go  on  an  exploring 
trip,  and  to  take  the  three  captives 


94  THE  PROSPECTOR. 

with  us,  giving  special  orders  to  see 
that  none  of  the  prisoners  escaped. 

"  When  everything  was  in  readiness, 
the  three  Sioux  were  brought  out  and 
placed  on  unsaddled  ponies,  with  their 
hands  tied  behind  them.  Not  a  word 
could  they  utter  that  we  could  under- 
stand ;  but  O,  the  mute  pleading  and 
silent  prayers  of  those  poor  captives  ! 
It  was  a  dreary  April  morning;  the 
clouds  hung  low  and  the  very  heavens 
seemed  ready  to  weep  for  the  poor, 
helpless  Indians. 

"  I  don't  know  why  they  did,  but 
every  few  moments,  as  we  rode  slowly 
and  silently  Across  the  dank  plain,  they 
would  turn  their  sad  eyes  to  me,  so 
full  of  voiceless  pleading  that  I  found 
it  was  impossible  to  hold  my  peace 
longer.  Riding  up  to  the  side  of  the 
Captain,  I  asked  him  what  he  intended 
to  do  with  the  captives.  l  Wait  and 


CHAPTER    X.  95 

you  will  see,'  was  his  answer. 
4  What,'  said  I,  '  you  don't  mean  to 
kill  them?  That  would  be  cold-blooded 
murder.'  4  I'll  see  that  they  don't  get 
away,'  said  the  cruel  Captain.  I 
thought  if  he  would  only  give  them  a 
show,  and  suggested  that  we  let  them 
go  two  hundred  yards,  untie  their 
hands  and  tell  them  to  fly;  but  to  this 
proposition  he  made  no  reply.  Then  we 
went  on  silently,  the  poor  captives  rid- 
ing with  bowed  heads,  dreaming  day- 
dreams, no  doubt,  of  leafy  arboles  and 
running  streams;  of  the  herds  of  buffalo 
that  were  bounding  away  o'er  the  dis- 
tant plain. 

"  The  scouts  were  all  Pawnees,  and 
their  hatred  for  the  Sioux  dated  from 
the  breaking  of  a  treaty  by  the  latter, 
some  time  previous.  After  the  treaty 
had  been  completed,  the  two  tribes 
started  on  a  buffalo  hunt..  When  they 


96  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

arrived  at  the  Republican  River,  and 
the  Pawnees  had  partly  crossed,  and 
the  rest  were  in  the  stream,  the  Sioux 
opened  fire  upon  them  and  slew  them 
without  mercy.  The  Pawnee  were  di- 
vided into  three  bands  by  this  treacher- 
ous slaughter  and  never  got  together 
afterward.  The  bitterest  hatred  existed 
between  the  two  tribes,  and  the  Gov- 
ernment was  using  one  to  suppress  the 
other. 

"  The  three  captives  would  never  have 
surrendered  to  the  Pawnees  had  they 
not  seen  the  white  men,  to  whom  they 
looked  for  mercy.  How  unworthy  they 
were  of  this  confidence,  we  shall  soon 
see. 

"  The  Pawnees  were  by  no  means 
merciful.  I  have  heard  them  tell  often, 
how  they  'skinned  a  man  alive  at  Raw- 
hide, a  little  stream  in  Nebraska,  with 
all  the  gruesome  and  blood-curdling 


CHAPTER   X.  97 

gestures.  The  white  man,  the  victim  of 
the  skinners,  had  made  a  threat  that 
he  would  kill  the  first  Indian  he  saw. 
It  happened  to  be  a  squaw  ;  but  the 
man  kept  his  word.  His  rifle  cracked 
and  the  squaw  dropped  dead.  The 
train  had  gone  but  a  few  miles  when 
the  Indians  overtook  the  wagons  and 
forced  them  to  return  to  the  scene  of 
the  shooting,  where  they  formed  a  cir- 
cle, led  the  victim  to  the  center,  and 
actually  skinned  him  alive,  while  his 
companions  were  compelled  to  look 


on." 


I  agreed  that  all  this  was  interesting; 
but  insisted  upon  hearing  the  story  of 
the  cruel  Captain  and  the  captives. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  prospector. 
u  Well,  I  had  dropped  back  a  few  feet, 
two  of  the  naked  Indians  were  riding 
in  front  of  the  Captain,  when  he  lifted 
his  pistol;  it  cracked  and  I  saw  a  little 


98  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

red  spot  in  the  bare  back  of  one  of 
the  bound  captives.  His  fettered  arms 
raised  slightly;  his  head  went  back, 
and  he  dropped  from  the  horse,  dead. 
The  pistol  cracked  again:  Another  little 


red  spot  showed  up  between  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  other  Indian.  I  felt  the 
hot  blood  rush  to  my  face,  and  impul- 
sively raised  my  rifle — mechanically,  as 
the  natural  helper  of  the  oppressed— 
when  a  Pawnee,  who  was  riding  at  my 


CHAPTER  X.  99 

side,  reached  out,  grasped  my  gun, 
and  said,  '  No  shoot  'im.' 

"  The  third  captive,  who  was  riding 
behind  with  the  Indian  scouts,  at- 
tempted to  escape,  seeing  how  his  com- 
panions were  being  murdered,  but  was 
killed  by  the  guard. 

"  The  Captain  dismounted  and  scalped 
the  two  victims  with  a  dull  pocket- 
knife,  and  afterward  told  how  they 
rolled  up  their  eyes  and  looked  at  him 
like  a  dying  calf. 

UI  could  tell  you  more;  but  when  I 
think  of  that  murder,  it  makes  me  sick 
at  heart,  and  I  can  see  that  awful 
scene  enacted  again." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A     GLIMPSE     OF     THE     KOCKIES THE    PATH 

OF      THE      PKOSPECTOK,     LIKE      THAT     OF 
THE    POET,    LIES    IN    A    STONY    WAY. 

MR.  CREEDE^S  success  is  due  largely 
to  Ms  lasting  love  for  the  mount- 
ains, which  was  love  at  first  sight.  It 
was  in  1862  that  the  scouts  were 
ordered  to  Dakota;  and  it  was  then  he 
saw  for  the  first  time  the  grand  old 
Rockies.  They  were  nearing  the  Big 
Horn  Range,  and  the  sight  of  snow  in 
August  was  something  the  Indians  of 
the  plains  could  not  understand.  In 
fact,  they  insisted  that  it  was  not  snow, 
but  white  earth,  and  offered  to  stake 
their  savings  on  the  proposition.  Some 
of  them  were  foolish  enough  to  bet 
their  ponies  that  there  was  no  snow  on 
the  ground  in  summer  time.  Late  that 


100 


CHAPTER   XI. 


101 


evening  they  camped  at  the  foot  of  the 
range,  and  on  the  following  morning, 
four  men  were  sent  up  to  investigate 
and  decide  the  bets.  The  result  was  a 
change  of  horses,  in  which  the  Indians 
got  the  worst  of  the  bargain.  For 
nearly  a  week  they  lingered  in  the 
shadows  of  the  cooling 
mountains  and  were 


102  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

When,  some  years  later,  the  scouts 
were  mustered  out  of  service,  Creede 
returned  to  his  old  home  in  Iowa.  But 
he  soon  tired  of  the  dull,  prosy  life 
they  led  there  ;  and,  remembering  the 
scent  of  wild  flowers  and  the  balmy 
breeze  that  blew  down  the  cool  canons 
of  the  Big  Horn  Mountains,  he  deter- 
mined to  return  to  the  region  of  the 
Rockies.  Already  he  had  seen  his 
share  of  service,  it  would  seem.  For 
more  than  a  dozen  years  he  had  ~slept 
where  night  had  found  him,  with  no 
place  he  could  call  his  home  ;  and  yet 
there  are  still  a  dozen  years  of  doubt 
and  danger  through  which  he  must 
pass.  For  him  the  trail  that  leads  to 
fortune  and  fame,  is  a  long  one  ;  and 
many  camps  must  be  made  between  his 
pallet  on  the  plains  and  his  mansion 
by  the  sea.  The  path  of  the  pros- 
pector, like  that  of  the  poet,  lies  in  a 


CHAPTER  XL  103 

stony  way,   and    nothing   is   truer    than 
the   declaration   that  : 

The  road  is  rough  and  rocky,— 

The  road  that  leads  to  fame; 
The  way  is  strewn  with  skeletons 

Of  those  who  have  grown  lame 
And  have  fallen  by  the  wayside. 

The  world  will  pass  you  by, 
Nor  pause  to  read  your  manuscript 

Till  you  go  off  and  die. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IN     COLORADO THE    PROSPECTOE    LABORED 

AND    LOOKED  AWAY  TO   THE    MOUNTAINS. 

'"THE  life  of  a  prospector  is  one 
*  fraught  with  hardships  and  priva- 
tions and,  in  locations  infested  by  In- 
dians, often  one  of  peril.  But  in  his 
search  for  the  precious  metals,  the 
hardy  prospector  gives  but  little 
thought  to  personal  danger.  With  his 
bedding,  tools  and  provisions,  packed 
upon  the  backs  of  trusty  little  burros, 
he  turns  from  the  haunts  of  men  and 
plunges  into  the  trackless  wilds  of  the 
mountains.  Guided  by  the  star  of  hope, 
he  pursues  his  ceaseless  explorations  in 
the  face  of  hardships  which  would 
appall  any  heart  not  buoyed  up  by  a 
keen  expectation  of  "  striking  it  rich " 


104 


CHAPTER   XII.  105 

in    the    near  future,    and    springing    at 
one    bound   from   poverty  to  wealth. 

Of  the  great  army  of  prospectors 
constantly  seeking  to  unearth  the  vast 
treasure  hidden  in  the  rocky  breast  of 
the  mountain  ranges  of  the  West,  few 
attain  a  realization  of  the  hopes  which 
lead  them  onward,  and  secure  the 
wealth  for  which  they  so  persistently 
toil.  The  instances  are  very  rare  in 
which  the  prospector  has  reaped  an 
adequate  reward  for  his  discoveries. 
In  the  great  majority  of  cases  where 
really  valuable  leads  have  been  located, 
the  discoverers,  not  possessing  the  capi- 
tal necessary  to  develop  them,  have 
accepted  the  first  offer  for  their  pur- 
chase, and  have  sold  for  a  mere  song 
properties  which  have  brought  millions 
to  those  who  secured  them.  The  most 
notable  instance  in  the  annals  of  min- 
ing in  the  West,  where  fortune  has 


106  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

rewarded  the  prospector  for  his  labors, 
is  that  in  which  figures  Mr.  N.  C. 
Creede.  His  is  a  life  tinged  with  ro- 
mance from  boyhood  to  the  present 
time.  This  story  may  serve  as  an  in- 
centive to  less  fortunate  prospectors  to 
push  onward  with  renewed  hopes  ;  for 
in  the  great  mountain  ranges  of  the 
West,  untold  riches  yet  lie  hidden  from 
the  eye  of  man. 

The  register  at  the  Drover's  Hotel, 
Pueblo,  if  it  had  a  register,  held  the 
name  of  N.  C.  Creede,  some  time  in  the 
fall  of  1870.  He  marveled  much  at  the 
Mexicans.  For  years  he  had  lived 
among  the  Indians  and  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  many  tribes  ;  but  this 
dark,  sad -faced  man,  was  a  new  sort  of 
Red  Skin. 

Pueblo  in  '70,  was  not  the  city  we 
see  there  to-day.  It  was  a  dreary  clus- 
ter of  adobe  houses,  built  about  a  big 


CHAPTER  XII.  107 

cotton -wood  tree  on  the  banks  of  a 
poor  little  river  that  went  creeping 
away  toward  the  plain,  pausing  in 
every  pool  to  rest,  having  run  all  the 
way  from  Tennessee  Pass  over  a  rocky 
road  through  the  Royal  Gorge. 

Less  than  thirty  summers  had 
brought  their  bloom  to  him,  but  he 
felt  old.  Life  was  long  and  the  seven 
years  of  hard  service  on  the  plains  had 
made  him  a  sad  and  silent  man.  So 
much  of  sorrow,  so  much  of  suffering 
had  he  seen  that  he  seldom  smiled  and 
was  much  alone.  Away  from  his  old 
companions,  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land, 
he  looked  away  to  the  snow-capped 
crest  of  the  Sangre  de  Christo  and 
said :  "  There  will  I  go  and  find  my 
fortune."  Then  he  remembered  he  was 
poor.  But  he  was  young,  strong  and 
willing  to  work,  and  he  soon  found 
employment  with  Mr.  Robert  Grant, 


108  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

who  was  very  kind  to  this  lone  man  in 
many  ways.  For  six  months  he  labored 
and  looked  away  to  the  mountains, 
whose  stony  vaults  held  a  fortune  and 
fame  for  him.  In  the  spring  of  1871, 
the  amateur  prospector  went  away  to 
the  hills  and  spent  the  summer  hunt- 
ing, fishing  and  looking  for  quartz. 
After  this,  life  away  from  the  grand 
old  mountains  was  not  the  life  for  him. 
Here  was  his  habitation.  This  should 
be  his  home. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

FKUITLESS     SEARCHES MET     A    STREAK    OF 

HARD    LUCK BUT    LATER     HE    STOOD    ON 

THE     SUN-KISSED     SUMMIT. 

HTHE  winter  of  1871-2  was  spent  at 
1  Del  Norte,  and  jn  the  following 
spring  Creede,  with  a  party  of  prospect- 
ors, went  to  Elizabeth  town,  New  Mex- 
ico. This  town  was  a  new  one,  but 
was  attracting  considerable  attention  as 
a  placer  field.  Like  a  great  many  other 
mining  camps,  the  place  was  overdone, 
and  unless  a  man  had  money  to  live 
on,  the  outlook  was  not  very  cheerful. 
Finding  no  work  to  do  the  young  pros- 
pector staked  a  placer  claim  and  com- 
menced operations  single-handed  and 
alone,  and  the  end  of  the  third  day, 
cleaned  up  and  found  himself  in  pos- 


110  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

session  of  nine  dollars'  worth  of  gold 
dust.  This  gave  him  new  courage.  He 
worked  all  the  summer  ;  but  when  win- 
ter came  on,  he  discovered  that  after 
paying  his  living  expenses  which  are 
always  lofty  in  a  new  camp,  he  had 
only  made  fair  wages  ;  the  most  he 
had  made  in  a  single  day  was  nine 
dollars. 

The  winter  following  found  the  pros- 
pector in  Pueblo  again,  working  for 
another  stake,  this  time  in  the  employ 
of  Mr.  George  Gilbert.  Early  in  the 
spring  of  1873,  he  took  the  trail. 
Upon  this  occasion,  he  found  his  way 
to  Rosita  in  Ouster  County  where  the 
famous  Bassick  Mine  was  afterward  dis- 
covered, and  within  a  few  miles  of  Sil- 
ver Cliff,  which  was  destined  to  attract 
the  attention  of  so  many  prospectors, 
bringing  into  the  mining  world  so 
much  shadow  and  so  little  shine. 


CHAPTER   XIII.  Ill 

From  Rosita  he  went  to  the  San 
Juan  district  and  prospected  for  several 
months,  returned  to  the  east  side  of  the 
range,  and  finally  made  a  second  trip 
to  the  San  Juan,  but  found  nothing 
worth  the  assessment  work. 

About  this  time  the  Gunnison  coun- 
try began  to  attract  attention  and  with 
other  fortune- seekers  Creede  went  there. 
This  trip,  like  all  his  prospecting  tours 
west  of  the  " Great  Divide"  panned 
poorly.  Never  did  he  make  a  discov- 
ery of  importance  on  the  western  slope, 
and  now  he  made  a  trip  to  Leadville. 
Here  he  met  with  a  well -defined  streak 
of  hard  luck.  After  hunting  in  vain 
for  a  fortune,  he  was  taken  with  pneu- 
monia, lingered  for  a  long  time 
between  life  and  death,  but  finally 
recovered.  If  Creede  had  died  then, 
he  would  have  received,  probably,  four 
lines  in  the  Herald,  which  would  have 


112  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

been  to  the  effect  that  a  prospector  had 
died  of  pneumonia  in  his  cabin  at  the 
head  of  California  Gulch,  and  had  been 
dead  some  time  when  discovered,  as 
the  corpse  was  cold  and  the  fire  out. 
He  was  of  no  great  importance  at  that 
time,  but  since  then  he  has  marched 
from  Monarch  to  the  banks  of  the  Rio 
Grande,  leaving  a  silver  trail  behind 
him,  until  at  last,  standing  on  the  sun- 
kissed  summit  of  Bachelor  mountain, 
he  can  look  back  along  the  trail  and 
see  the  camp-fires  that  he  lighted  with 
tired  hands,  trembling  in  the  cold, 
burning  brightly  where  the  waste 
places  have  been  made  glad  by  the 
building  of  hundreds  of  happy  homes. 
Creede  has  labored  long  and  faith- 
fully for  what  he  has,  never  shrinking 
from  the  task  the  gods  seem  to  have 
set  before  him.  Almost  from  his  in- 
fancy he  has  been  compelled  to  do 


CHAPTER    XIII.  113 

battle  with  the  world  alone,  and  the 
writer  is  proud  of  the  privilege  of  tell- 
ing the  story  of  his  life,  giving  credit 
where  credit  is  due,  and  putting  the 
stamp  of  perfidity  upon  the  band  of 
stool-pigeons  who  have  camped  on  his 
trail  for  the  purpose  of  claiming  credit 
for  what  he  did. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE      MONARCH      CAMP — JEALOUS      MINEKS 
WANTED    THE    NAME    CHANGED. 

FOREST  fires  started  by  the  Indians, 
carelessly  or  out  of  pure  deviltry, 
had  swept  the  hills  to  the  east  of  the 
divide  in  Chaff ee  County,  and  sufficient 
time  had  elapsed  to  allow  a  pompadour 
of  pine  to  grow  in  the  crest  of  the 
continent,  so  thick  that  it  was  almost 
impenetrable.  In  July,  1878,  having 
chopped  a  trail  through  this  forest, 
Creede  came  to  the  head  of  the  little 
stream  where  the  prosperous  town  of 
Monarch  now  stands.  For  thirteen  days 
the  prospector  was  there  alone,  not  a 
soul  nearer  than  Poncha  Springs,  fifteen 

or  twenty  miles   away. 
114 


CHAPTER   XIV  115 

Elk,  deer  and  bear  were  there  hi 
abundance,  and  the  prospector  had  little 
difficulty  in  supplying  himself  with 
fresh  meat.  In  fact,  the  bear  were 
most  too  convenient, — they  insisted 
upon  coming  in  and  dining  with  the 
silver-seeker. 

Creede  located  a  claim,  called  it  the 
Monarch,  and  gave  the  same  name  to 
the  camp.  Among  the  first  claims  lo- 
cated was  one  called  the  "  Little 
Charm."  It  proved  to  be  a  good  prop- 
erty—  but  not  till  it  had  passed  into 
other  hands.  The  formation  in  the 
Monarch  district  was  limestone,  and  in 
limestone  the  prospector  never  knows 
what  he  has.  To-day  he  may  be  in 
pay  ore  and  to-morrow  pick  it  all  out. 
Creede  had  picked  out  some  promising 
prospects  in  the  same  formation.  He 
had  discovered  the  Madonna,  but  had 
more  than  he  could  handle.  He 


116 


THE   PROSPECTOR. 


took    Smith    and    Gray     up    there    and 
told     them    where     to    dig  ;    they     dug 


and  located 
They  kept 
assessments 
and  then 


the  Madonna   claim. 
it  and  worked  the 

f°r     fiye    yeai>s 
sold  it  to  Eylers 
of    Pueblo    for 
sixty  thousand 
dollars. 


AMETHYST    TRAMWAY. 


CHAPTER    XIV.  117 

The  ore  is  very  low  grade,  but  was 
of  great  value  to  these  men,  who  were 
smelters,  for  the  lead  it  carried. 

By  the  time  the  snow  began  to  fall 
there  were  a  number  of  prospectors  in 
the  new  camp,  and  having  tired  of  the 
place,  which  was  one  of  the  hardest, 
roughest  regions  in  the  state,  Creede 
sold  what  claims  he  had  for  one  thou- 
sand seven  hundred  dollars,  but  re- 
turned every  summer  for  five  years, 
cleaning  up  in  all  about  three  thou- 
sand dollars. 

In  Monarch,  as  in  his  last  success, 
there  were  a  number  of  jealous  miners 
who  wanted  the  name  of  the  camp 
changed. 

They  were,  or  most  of  them,  at  least, 
light-weight  politicians,  who  did  n't  care 
a  cent  what  the  town  was  called  so 
long  as  they  had  the  honor  of  naming 
it,  but  the  name  was  never  changed. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

BONANZA       CAMP THE       PONCHA       BANK 

CREEDE       DETERMINES       TO      SEE      OTHER 
SECTIONS. 

LEAVING  Monarch,  the  prospector 
journeyed  through  Poncha  Pass,  over 
into  the  San  Luis  Valley,  and  began  to 
climb  the  hills  behind  the  Sangre  de 
Christo  range.  On  a  little  stream  called 
Silver  Creek  he  made  a  number  of  loca- 
tions, among  them  the  Bonanza,  and  he 
called  the  new  camp  by  that  name,  just 
as  he  named  Monarch  after  what  he 
considered  his  best  claim.  The  country 
here  was  more  accessible  and  conse- 
quently a  more  desirable  field  for  pros- 
pecting. South  of  Bonanza,  Creede 
located  the  "  Twin  Mines,"  which  proved 
to  be  good  property.  The  ore  in  the 


118 


CHAPTER  XV.  119 

twin  claims  carried  two  ounces  or  gold 
to  the  ton. 

A  year  later  when  the  pioneer  pros- 
pector decided  to  pull  out  and  seek 
new  fields,  he  was  able  to  realize  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  in  good,  hard-earned 
money.  One  claim  was  sold  for  two 
thousand  dollars,  the  money  to  be  de- 
posited in  Raynolds7  bank  at  Salida ; 
but  the  purchasers  for  some  reason  in- 
sisted that  the  money  be  deposited  in  a 
Poncha  bank,  very  little  known  at  that 
time,  but  whose  president  shortly  after- 
ward killed  his  man  and  became  well, 
but  not  favorably,  known.  Creede's  two 
thousand  dollars  went  to  the  banker's 
lawyers.  The  bank  closed,  and  now 
you  may  see  the  ex-president  in  a  little 
mountain  town  pleading  at  the  bar — not 
the  bar  of  justice. 

The  camp  has  never  astonished  the 
mining  world,  but  it  has  furnished 


120  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

employment  for  a  number  of  people, 
and  that  is  good  and  shows  that  the 
West  and  the  whole  world  is  richer 
and  better  because  of  the  discoveries 
of  Creede. 

Creede  now  determined  to  see  a  little, 
and  learn  something  of  mining  in  other 
sections  of  the  West.  Leaving  Colorado, 
he  traveled  through  Utah,  Nevada,  Ari- 
zona and  California,  prospecting  and 
studying  the  formation  of  the  country 
in  the  different  mining  camps.  The 
knowledge  gained  on  this  trip  proved 
valuable  to  the  prospector  in  after 
years.  This  was  his  school.  The  wide 
West  was  his  school-house,  and  Nature 
was  his  teacher. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  BEAR  STORY THE  BEAST  INFURIATED 

A  NEW  DANGER  CONFRONTS  HIM. 

A  N  old  prospecting  partner  of  Mr. 
**  Creede's  told  the  following  story 
to  the  writer,  after  th^  discovery  of  the 
Amethyst,  which  lifted  the  discoverer 
into  prominence,  gave  him  fame  and  a 
bank  account — and  gave  every  advent- 
uress who  heard  of  his  fortune,  a  new 
field: 

A  man  by  the  name  of  Chester, 
Creede  and  I  were  prospecting  in  San 
Miguel  County,  Colorado,  in  the  80's. 
We  had  our  camp  in  a  narrow  canon 
by  a  little  mountain  stream.  It  was 
summer  time  ;  the  berries  were  ripe, 
and  bear  were  as  thick  as  sheep  in 
New  Mexico.  About  sunset  one  evening 


122  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

I  called  Creede  out  to  show  him  a 
cow  which  I  had  discovered  on  a  steep 
hillside  near  our  cabin. 

The  moment  the  Captain  saw  the  ani- 
mal he  said  in  a  stage  whisper  :  "  Bear!  " 
I  thought  he  w.as  endeavoring  to  fright- 
en me ;  but  he  soon  convinced  me  that 
he  was  in  earnest. 

Without  taking  his  eyes  from  the 
animal,  he  spoke  again  in  the  same 
stage  whisper,  instructing  me  to  hasten 
and  bring  Chester  with  a  couple  of 
rifles.  When  I  returned  with  the  shoot- 
ing irons  I  gave  the  one  I  carried  to 
Creede,  who  instructed  me  to  climb 
upon  a  sharp  rock  that  stood  up  like 
a  church  spire  in  the  bottom  of  the 
canon.  From  my  high  place  I  was  to 
signal  the  sharp-shooters,  keeping  them 
posted  as  to  the  movements  of  the  bear. 

41  You  come  with  me,"  said  Creede  to 
the  man  who  stood  at  his  side.  It 


CHAPTER  XVI.  123 

occurred  to  me  now  for  the  first  time 
that  there  was  some  danger  attached  to 
this  sport.  I  could  n't  help  wondering 
what  would  become  of  me  in  case  the 
bear  got  the  best  of  my  two  partners. 
If  the  bear  captured  them  and  got 
possession  of  the  only  two  guns  in  the 
camp,  my  position  on  that  rock  would 
become  embarrassing,  if  not  actually 
dangerous.  I  turned  to  look  at  Ches- 
ter, who  did  not  seem  to  start  when 
Creede  did.  Poor  fellow,  he  was  as 
pale  as  a  ghost.  "  See  here,"  he  said, 
addressing  the  man  who  was  looking 
back,  smiling  and  beckoning  him  on  as 
he  led  the  way  down  toward  the  noisy 
little  creek  which  they  must  cross  to 
get  in  rifle  range  of  the  bear,  "  I'm  a 
man  of  a  family,  an'  don't  see  why  I 
should  run  headlong  into  a  fight  with  rt 
grizzly  bear.  I  suppose  if  I  was  a  sin- 
gle man,  I  would  do  as  you  do  ;  but 


124  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

when  I  think  of  my  poor  wife  and 
dear  little  children,  it  makes  me  home- 
sick." Creede  kept  smiling  and  beck- 
oning with  his  forefinger.  I  laughed 
at  Chester  for  being  so  scared.  He 
finally  followed,  after  asking  me  to  look 
after  his  family  in  case  he  failed  to 
return.  Just  as  a  man  would  who  was 
on  his  way  to  the  Tower. 

Having  reached  the  summit  of  the 
rock,  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  big 
bear  coming  down  the  hill,  headed  for 
the  spot  where  the  hunters  stood  coun- 
seling as  to  how  they  should  proceed. 
I  tried  fo  shout  a  warning  to  them,  but 
the  creek  made  such  a  fuss  falling  over 
the  rocks  that  they  were  unable  to  hear 
me. 

A  moment  more  and  she  hove  in 
sight,  coming  down  the  slope  on  a  long 
gallop.  Probably  no  man  living  ever 
had  such  an  entertainment  as  I  was 


CHAPTER   XVI.  125 

about  to  witness.  In  New  York  ten 
thousand  people  would  pay  a  hundred 
dollars  a  seat  to  see  it ;  but  there  was 
no  time  to  bill  the  country — the  curtain 
was  up  and  the  show  was  on.  Creede, 
who  was  the  first  to  see  the  animal, 
shot  one  swift  glance  at  his  companion, 
raised  his  rifle,  a  Marlin  repeater,  and 
fired.  The  great  beast  shook  her  head, 
snorted,  increased  her  pace  and  bore 
down  upon  her  assailants.  Again  and 
again  Creed e's  rifle  rang  out  upon  the 
evening  air,  and  hearing  no  report  from 
Chester's  gun,  he  turned,  and  to  his 
horror,  saw  his  companion,  rifle  in  hand, 
running  for  camp.  Many  a  man  would 
have  wasted  a  shot  on  the  deserter,  but 
Creede  was  too  busy  with  the  bear,  even 
if  he  had  been  so  inclined.  Less  than 
forty  feet  separated  the  combatants 
when  Creede  turned,  and  at  the  next 
shot  I  was  pleased  to  see  the  infuriated 


126  THE  PROSPECTOR. 

animal  drop  and  roll  upon  the  ground. 
In  another  second  she  was  up  again, 
and  she  looked  more  like  a  ball  of 
blood  than  an  animal.  Now  she  stood 
up  for  the  final  struggle.  I  saw  Creede 
take  deliberate  aim  at  her  breast.  He 
fired  and  she  fell.  I  shouted  with  joy 
as  I  thought  she  must  be  dead  now, 
but  was  surprised  to  see  that  Creede 
was  still  shooting.  As  rapidly  as  I 
clapped  my  hands  his  rifle  shouted,  and 
he  put  four  more  great  leaden  missiles 
into  the  body  of  the  bear. 

With  that  unaccountable  strength  that 
comes  to  man  and  beast  in  the  last 
great  struggle,  the  mad  monster  stood 
up  again.  Nothing  on  earth  or  under 
the  earth  could  be  more  awful  in  ap- 
pearance than  was  this  animal.  One 
eye  had  been  forced  from  the  socket, 
and  stood  out  like  a  great  ball  of  fire. 
Blood  fairly  gushed  from  her  open 


CHAPTER  XVI.  127 

mouth,  and  the  coarse,  gurgling,  stran- 
gling sound  that  came  from  the  flooded 
throat,  was  so  awful  that  it  fairly  chilled 
the  blood  in  my  veins.  For  a  second 
she  stood  still  and  glared  at  her  adver- 
sary as  if  she  would  rest  or  get  a 
breath  before  springing  upon  him. 

Again  I  saw  the  hunter  take  deliber- 
ate aim.  This  time  he  aimed  at  the 
open  mouth,  the  ball  crashed  up 
through  the  brain  and  the  bear  dropped 
dead. 

I  did  not  shout  now.  This  was  the 
third  time  I  had  seen  him  kill  that 
same  bear,  and  I  expected  her  to  get  up 
again.  Creede  was  not  quite  satisfied, 
for  I  saw  him  hastily  filling  his  maga- 
zine; and  it  was  well. 

The  hunter  stepped  up  to  the  great 
dead  animal  and  placed  his  feet  upon 
her,  as  hunters  are  wont  to  do,  when 
another  danger  confronted  him. 


128 


THE    PROSPECTOR. 


Attracted  by  the  shooting  and  the 
coarse  cries  of  the  wounded  bear,  her 
mate  came  bounding  down  the  slope  to 
her  rescue. 

The  first  act  had  been  interesting,  but 
I  confess  that  I  was  glad  when  the  cur- 
tain dropped.  Creede  was  tired.  Even 


CHAPTER    XVI  129 

an  experienced  hunter  could  hardly  be 
expected  to  go  through  such  a  perform- 
ance without  experiencing  some  anxiety. 
I  almost  held  my  breath  as  the  big 
animal  bore  down  upon  the  tired 
hunter.  Nearer  and  nearer  he  came, 
and  Creede  had  not  even  raised  his  rifle 
to  his  shoulder.  Now  the  bear  was  less 
than  twenty  feet  away  and  Creede  stood 
still  as  a  statue  with  one  foot  resting 
on  the  body  of  the  dead. 

I  was  so  excited  that  I  shouted  to 
him  to  shoot,  but  he  never  knew  it ; 
and  if  he  had,  it  would  have  made  no 
difference. 

At  last  the  bear  stopped  within  eight 
feet  of  the  hunter,  and  bear-like,  stood 
up.  Now  the  rifle  was  leveled  and  it 
seemed  to  me  it  would  never  go,  but 
it  did.  The  big  bullet  broke  the  bear's 
neck,  and  he  fell  down  dead  at  the 
hunter's  feet. 


CHAPTEK  XVII. 

SMITH,   ABBOTT   AND   CREEDE  -- AGREED 
THEY  ABANDON  THE  HOLE. 

TN  1886  at  Monarch,  George  L. 
1  Smith,  Charles  H.  Abbott  and  K  C. 
Creede  formed  a  company  for  prospect- 
ing purposes.  Smith  and  Abbott  were 
to  furnish  the  funds,  while  Creede  did 
the  searching.  This  company  lasted  for 
nearly  four  years,  during  which  time  a 
number  of  locations  were  made,  some  of 
which  they  could  have  sold  at  a  good 
profit  ;  but  they  held  on  for  more 
money,  always  spending  liberally  for 
the  development  of  their  property. 

Just  before  the  little  company  went 
to  pieces,  Smith  and  Abbott  went  over 
in  the  mountains  to  where  Creede  with 

two  miners   had   worked   all   winter,  on 

130 


CHAPTER  XVII.  131 

Spring  Creek.  After  making  a  thor- 
ough examination  of  the  prospects,  it 
was  agreed  that  they  should  abandon 
the  hole  and  break  up  the  partnership. 
This  action  was  not  taken  because  of 
any  disagreement  ;  but  the  men  who 
were  putting  up  the  money  were  dis- 
couraged. 

Just  before  visiting  the  property, 
Smith  and  Abbott  received  a  letter 
from  Creede,  in  which  he  said  : 

"I  notice  by  the  general  tone  of  your 
letters  lately,  that  you  are  both  becom- 
ing discouraged  with  my  hard  luck.  I 
assure  you  that  I  am  doing  the  best 
I  can.  Take  new  courage,  stay  with 
me  a  little  longer,  and  I  shall  find 
the  greatest  silver  mine  in  America.  I 
feel  it  in  my  bones." 

But  they  had  tried  so  long  and  spent 
so  much  money,  that  they  had  become 
discouraged. 


132  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

Smith,  since  that  time  has  made  a 
small  fortune  out  of  mines.  Senator 
Abbott,  who  is  well  known  and  uni- 
versally respected,  is  the  manager  of  a 
Monarch  property  in  which  he  is 
largely  interested.  He  has  a  home  in 
Denver  where  his  family  live  ;  but 
spends  most  of  his  time  in  the  mount- 
ains, still  toiling,  and  hoping  that  he, 
too,  may  find  a  fortune  in  the  hoary 
hills. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    HOLY    MOSES ELIJAH  WAS  AWKWARD 

AND     HARD     TO     SPELL WAGON     WHEEL 

GAP. 

CHOETLY  after  the  abandonment  of 
**J  the  claim  on  Spring  Creek,  and  the 
withdrawal  of  Senator  Abbott  from  the 
company,  Smith  and  Creede  went  over 
to  the  head  of  West  Willow.  They  be- 
lieved that  at  that  point  they  could  find 
an  extension  of  the  vein  they  had  been 
working,  and  Creede  believes  to  this 
day  that  they  did.  Here  they  located  a 
claim.  They  were  not  working  to- 
gether that  day  and  Creede  was  alone 
when  the  location  was  made.  Many  are 
the  stories  that  have  been  told  as  to 
how  the  first  mine  in  the  now  famous 
camp  of  Creede  got  its  name,  none  of 
which  are  within  a  mile  of  the  truth. 


133 


134  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

Having  driven  a  stake,  Creede  sat 
down  to  think  of  a  name.  There  was 
little  or  nothing  in  a  name,  he  thought, 
but  he  wanted  to  please  his  partner. 


He  remembered  that  Smith  had  named 
three  claims  in  Monarch,  the  "  Ma- 
donna," the  "Cherubim,"  and  the  "Ser- 
aphim," and  he  would  follow  in  that 
line.  Creede  was  not  well  versed  in 


CHAPTER  XVIII.  135 

Biblical  history,  so  knew  very  little  of 
the  saints  and  angels.  He  looked  above 
where  the  eagle  flew  by  the  ragged 
rocks  and  thought  of  Elijah;  how  he 
hid  away  in  the  hills,  and  how  the  ra- 
vens came  down  and  fed  him.  He 
looked  at  his  torn  and  tattered  trousers, 
and  thought  of  Lazarus.  Neither  of 
these  names  pleased  him.  Lazarus  sug- 
gested poverty  and  Elijah  was  awkward 
and  hard  to  spell.  He  looked  away  to 
the  stream  below,  where  the  willows 
were,  and  thought  of  the  babe  in  the 
bulrushes.  He  looked  at  the  thick  for- 
est of  pine  that  shaded  the  gentle  slopes, 
and  thought  of  the  man  who  walked 
in  the  wilderness.  And  he  called  the 
mine  the  Moses  ;  then  fearing  that  his 
partner  might  object  even  to  that, 
rubbed  it  out,  and  wrote  "  Holy  Moses." 
The  story  of  the  new  strike  spread 
like  a  prairie  fire,  and  soon  found  its 


136  THE    PROSPECTOR. 

way  to  the  ears  of  Mr.  D.  H.  Moffat, 
then  president  of  the  Denver  &  Rio 
Grande  Railroad  Company,  who  was 
always  on  the  lookout  for  a  good  mine. 
One  day  in  the  early  autumn  of  1890, 
Mr.  Moffat,  with  a  party  of  friends,  in- 
cluding Mr.  Eb  Smith,  his  mining  ex- 
pert, and  Capt.  L.  E.  Campbell,  then 
quartermaster  at  Fort  Logan,  set  out  in 
the  president's  private  car  for  Wagon 
Wheel  Gap,  which  was  at  that  time 
the  terminus  of  the  track.  Captain 
Campbell  had  turned  the  traffic  of  the 
post  to  the  u  Scenic  Line "  and  in  a  lit- 
tle while  a  warm  friendship  sprang  up 
between  him  and  the  railway  manage- 
ment, the  result  of  which  has  proved 
very  beneficial  to  all  concerned. 

Arriving  at  Wagon  Wheel  Gap,  the 
party  set  out  in  stages  for  the  Holy 
Moses,  a  distance  of  ten  miles.  The 
road  lay  along  the  grassy  hanks  of  the 


CHAPTER  XVIII.  137 

Rio  Grande,  one  of  the  prettiest  streams 
in  the  West.  A  ride  through  such  a 
beautiful  country  could  not  be  tiresome, 
and  before  they  began  to  feel  the  fa- 
tigue of  the  journey,  they  reached  the 
claim. 

It  took  but  a  short  time  to  convince 
the  speculators  that  the  Moses  was  good 
property,  and  before  leaving,  a  bond 
was  secured  at  seventy  thousand  dollars. 
Returning  to  Denver,  the  property  was 
divided.  Mr.  Moffat  took  one  half,  the 
other  half  being  divided  between  Cap- 
tain Campbell,  Mr.  Eb  Smith,  Mr.  S. 
T.  Smith,  who  was  then  general  mana- 
ger of  the  Denver  &  Rio  Grande 
Railroad  Company,  and  Mr,  Walter  S. 
Cheesman,  at  that  time  a  director,  each 
paying  in  proportion  to  what  he  got. 
Most  of  the  men  interested  in  this  new 
venture  were  very  busy,  and  they  were 
at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do  for  a 


138  THE  PROSPECTOR. 

reliable  man  to  manage  the  property. 
About  that  time  Captain  Campbell 
secured  a  year's  leave  of  absence  from 
the  army  and  took  up  his  residence  at 
the  new  camp.  A  comfortable  cottage 
was  built  in  the  beautiful  valley,  just 
where  the  West  Willow  pours  her 
crystal  flood  into  the  Rio  Grande,  and 
here  the  Campbells  had  their  home. 
Mrs.  Campbell,  who  is  a  niece  of  Mrs. 
General  Grant,  had  lived  many  years 
in  Washington,  but  she  appeared  as 
much  at  home  in  Creede  camp  as  she 
did  in  the  Capital. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Here's  a  land  where  all  are  equal, 

Of  high  and  lowly  birth  ; 

A  land  where  men  make  millions 

Dug  from  the  dreary  earth. 

Here  the  meek  and  mild-eyed  burros 

On  mineral  mountains  feed, 

It's  day  all  day  in  the  day-time, 

And  there  is  no  night  in  Creede. 

The  cliffs  are  solid  silver, 
With  wondrous  wealth  untold  ; 
And  the  beds  of  the  running  rivers 
Are  lined  with  purest  gold. 
While  the  world  is  filled  with  sorrow 
And  hearts  must  break  and  bleed, 
It's  day  all  day  in  the  day-time, 
And  there  is  no  night  in  Creede. 

CREEDE      CAMP THE     NEW     FIELD INCOR- 
PORATION   OF    THE     AMETHYST. 

A  S  manager  of  the  Holy  Moses,  Cap- 
•*  *  tain  Campbell  employed  Mr.  Creede, 
in  whom  he  had  implicit  confidence,  to 

prospect,  on    a    salary,   with    the   under  - 

139 


140  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

standing  that  the  prospector  should 
have  one  third  of  what  was  found. 
Creede  had  a  world  of  faith  in  the 
country,  and  had  imparted  this  confi- 
dence to  the  Captain. 

An  ordinary  mortal  would  have  been 
satisfied  with  thirty-five  thousand  dol- 
lars, but  Creede's  dream  had  not  yet 
been  realized.  The  prophecy  made  in 
his  last  letter  to  his  old  partners  had 
not  been  fulfilled.  He  had  now  enough 
to  keep  him  when  old  age  should 
come  upon  him,  and  laying  his  little 
fortune  aside  for  a  rainy  day,  he 
started  out  with  the  intention  of  wast- 
ing his  grub-stake,  Tiis  salary  and  his 
time. 

As  if  he  would  lose  all  trace  of  the 
Moses  vein,  he  passed  over  a  low  divide 
and  began  to  toil  up  the  steep,  densely - 
wooded  side  of  Bachelor  Mountain. 
How  many  miles  this  man  had  walked 


CHAPTER   XIX.  141 

in  the  wilds  of  the  mountains,  alone 
with  Nature  and  Nature's  God  !  The 
frosts  of  fifty  winters  have  touched  his 
face  and  there  are  streaks  of  gray  in 
his  soft,  thin  hair.  At  his  heels  is 
the  faithful  dog.  He,  too,  has  seen 
his  share  of  service,  and  is  as  gray  as 
his  master. 

The  mountain  gets  its  name  from  the 
Bachelor  mine  which  was  one  of  the 
first  discoveries.  This  claim  was  lo- 
cated by  a  Mr.  Bennett  in  the  year, 
1885.  Mr.  John  Herrick,  a  jolly  bach- 
elor of  Denver,  formerly  of  New  York, 
had  been  pounding  away  in  this  claim 
for  several  years  ;  but  not  until  the 
mountain  had  given  up  millions  to 
others,  did  he  wrest  a  fortune  from  her 
rugged  breast. 

Slowly  up  the  mountain- side  the  lone 
prospector  worked  his  way.  Some  float 
was  found  and  traced  along  through 


THE    PROSPECTOR. 


the  heavy^ijorest.  Now  and  then  the 
great  roots  of  the  pine  trees  forced 
some  richyooking  rock  to  the  surface, 
and  the  prospector  was  tempted  to  stop 
and  dig,  but  the  float  kept  cropping 
out.  There  was  mineral  in  that  mount- 
ain and  lie  would  follow  the  outcrop- 
ping until  it  disappeared. 

Already  the  prospector  began  to 
drepoin  day -dreams  of  fortune  and  fame. 
SI'  vvly  up  the  mountain  he  toiled,  find- 
:  ig  fresh  signs  of  wealth  at  every  step. 
Once  in  a  while  the  temptation  to  stop 
was  so  great,  that  it  was  almost  irre- 
sistible ;  but  still  he  went  on.  When 
half-way  up  the  long  slope,  the  out- 
croppings  disappeared  and  he  turned 
back.  His  trained  eye  soon  led  them 
to  the  proper  place  and  before  the  sun 
went  down  that  day,  Creede  had  laid 
the  foundation  for  the  fortune  of  not 
less  than  a  half  dozen  people. 


CH  APT  Eli   XIX. 


143 


one 


The   new    find     was  called   the   Ame- 
thyst, and    upon    this    vein    are    located 
now     the     Last      Chance,     New     York 
Chance,  the   Bachelor   and  a  number   of 
other   valuable    claims     thajfc   are   worth, 
or     will      be     when     silvei 
is   remonetized.    from 
to    five    million    dol- 
lars   apiece. 

In  May,  1892,  the 
Amethyst  Mining 
Company  w^as  in- 
corporated. 

Mr.  D.  H.   Moffat 
was    elected    president;^ 
N.  C.    Creede,  vice-president;       M«-  ALLEXBY. 

Foreman  of  the  Aniethj'St. 

Walter  S.  Cheesman,  secretary  and  treas- 
urer, and  Captain  L.  E.  Campbell,  gen- 
eral manager.  A  tramway  was  built 
to  carry  the  ore  from  the  mine  to  the 
Denver  <fe  Rio  Grande  Railroad  Com- 
pany's track,  which  cost  the  Amethyst 


144  THE    PROSPECTOR.' 

• 

company  many  thousands  of  dollars. 
Splendid  shaft  and  ore  houses  were 
built  at  the  mine,  making  almost  a  little 
city  where  Creede  had  walked  through  a 
wilderness  of  pines.  The  Last  Chance, 
adjoining  the  Amethyst,  owned  by  Sen- 
ator E.  O.  Wolcott,  and  others,  spent  a 
fortune  in  development  work  ;  but  the 
mine  has  yielded  millions  to  its  owners. 
To  Mr.  Jacob  Sanders  of  Leadville  is 
due  the  credit  for  having  organized  the 
Last  Chance  Mining  Company,  one  of 
the  strongest  in  the  camp. 

When  the  news  of  the  incorporation 
of  the  Amethyst  Mining  Company  went 
out  to  the  world,  many  inquiries  were 
made  by  brokers  for  stock  ;  but  none 
was  ever  offered  for  sale. 

The  capital  stock,  five  million  dollars, 
is  divided  as  follows  ;  Mr.  Creede  owns 
one  third,  Mr.  Moffat  one  third,  Captain 
Campbell  one  sixth,  Mr.  S.  T.  Smith 


CHAPTER    XIX.  145 

and  Mr.  Cheesman,  a  twelfth  each. 
When  the  statement  is  made  that  this 
mine  for  some  time  paid  a  monthly  div- 
idend of  ninety  thousand  dollars,  it  is 
easy  to  figure  the  daily  income  of  any 
or  all  of  the  gentlemen  interested  in  the 
property.  What  a  striking  example  for 
the  monometallist  who  argues  that  silver 
can  be  produced  at  a  profit  at  the  pres- 
ent prices ;  but  it  stands  as  a  well- 
known  fact,  that,  taking  the  whole 
output  of  Creede  camp  from  the  date 
of  the  discovery  of  the  Amethyst  vein  to 
the  present  time,  every  ounce  of  silver 
that  has  gone  down  the  Rio  Grande  has 
cost  the  producers  more  than  a  dollar. 
Of  the  army  of  prospectors  who  lose 
themselves  in  the  hills  every  spring, 
nothing  is  ever  heard,  except  of  the  very 
few  who  find  a  fortune.  Among  the  gam- 
bling dens  in  a  mining  camp,  the  scores 
of  men  who  lose  from  one  to  one  thou- 


146  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

sand  dollars  every  night  keep  their  own 
secret;  but  let  one  man  win  a  hundred, 
and  you  will  hear  the  barber  tell  the 
city  marshal  that  "  Redy  Quartz  broke 
de  bank  at  Banigan's  las7  night,  too 
easy."  Mining  and  prospecting  are  only 
legitimate  gambling,  and  it  is  the  tens 
of  thousands  of  little  losers  that  keep 
the  game  going. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

\ 
WANDERING    IN    THE    WILDS AMONG    THE 

MILES       OF      MOUNTAINS  -  -  BENEATH      A 
SUMMER    SKY. 

A  WAY  in  the  hills,  far  above  the 
^^  bluebells,  where  the  day  dawned 
early  and  the  sunlight  lingered  when 
the  day  was  done,  the  lone  prospector 
had  his  home.  At  times  he  would  have 
a  prospecting  partner  ;  but  often  for 
months  he  lived  alone  in  the  hills,  with 
no  companion  save  his  faithful  dog,  who 
for  thirteen  years  followed  silently 
wheVe  his  master  led.  One  day  while 
talking  of  his  past  experiences,  the  pros- 
pector said :  "  When  I  try  to  taste 
again  the  joy  that  was  mine  when  I 
first  learned  that  I  was  a  millionaire, 
I  am  disappointed.  Like  Mark  Twain's 
dime,  it  could  be  enjoyed  but  once. 


147 


148 


THE   PROSPECTOR. 


Great  joys,  like  great  sorrows,  are  soon 
forgotten  ;  but  there  are  things  that 
are  as  fresh  in  my  memory  as  if  these 
years  had  been  but 
moments.  I  shall 
never  forget 


the  many  beautiful  spois  where  my 
little  dog  and  I  have  camped  —  al- 
ways on  the  sunny  south  hills  where 
the  sun  coaxed  the  grass  to  grow  and 
the  flowers  to  blow,  often,  it  seemed,  a 


CHAPTER   XX.  149 

month  ahead  of  time.  When  we  had 
made  our  camp,  sometimes  we  would  go 
away  for  a  day  or  two,  and  upon  our 
return,  we  would  find  the  little  wild 
flowers  blooming  by  our  door.  Often, 
now,  when  we  have  finished  our  mid- 
day dinner  of  porterhouse  and  pie,  I 
sit  on  the  stoop  in  the  sunlight,  my 
faithful  dog  at  my  feet,  and  as  I  smoke 
a  fifty- cent  cigar,  my  mind  wanders  back 
over  memory's  trail. 

I  hear  the  song  of  brooklets, 
The  murmurings  of  the  winds; 
I  smell  the  smell  of  summer, 
Hear  the  whispering  of  the  pines. 

I  seem  to  see  the  sunset ; 
In  fancy  I  behold 
The  hoary  hills  above  me, 
Robed  in  a  garb  of  gold. 

1  give  an  extra  cookie 
To  this  dear  old  dog  of  mine; 
As  he  shared  the  shadow, 
So  shall  he  share  the  shine. 


150  T.HE  PROSPECTOR. 

And  as  I  smoke  and  lose  me, 
In  the  days  that  have  gone  by, 
Among  the  miles  of  mountains 
Beneath  a  summer  sky, 

The  smoke  of  my  Havanna, 
As  it  slowly  floats  away, 
Is  freighted  with  the  odor 
Of  my  long-lost  pipe  of  clay. 

And  I  give  an  extra  cookie 
To  this  poor  old  dog  of  mine ; 
For  he  has  shared  the  shadow, 
And  he  shall  share  the  shine. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

DEVELOPMENT    OF      CEEEDE SAW     A     CITY 

SPRING     UP      ALMOST      IN       A       DAY AN 


X  TOW  let  the  weary  prospector  sit 
1  ^  down  and  rest.  His  dream  has 
been  realized  ;  his  prophecy  fulfilled. 

The  opening  of  the  Amethyst  vein 
called  for  the  extension  of  the  Denver 
&  Rio  Grande  Railway  Company's  track 
from  Wagon  Wheel  Gap,  a  distance  of 
ten  miles. 

About  this  time,  President  Moffat  and 
the  General  Manager  got  into  an  en- 
tanglement with  the  directory  and  both 
resigned.  Mr.  George  Coppell,  chairman 
of  the  board,  came  out  from  New  York 
and  took  charge  of  the  property. 

Mr.     Moffat     and     others      interested, 


152  THE  PROSPECTOR. 

urged  the  management  to  extend  the 
rails  to  the  new  camp.  Among  those 
interested  in  the  extension  was  Senator 
Wolcott,  counsel  for  the  company  ;  but 
it  is  as  difficult  for  a  New  York  cap- 
italist to  appreciate  the  importance  of  a 
silver  camp  as  it  is  for  him  to  appreci- 
ate the  value  of  a  silver  dollar,  so  Mr. 
Coppell  refused  to  build  the  line. 

Mr.  Moffat  then  put  up  thirty-six 
thousand  dollars  to  build  the  extension, 
agreeing  to  let  the  railroad  company 
repay  him  in  freight. 

Soon  after  this  Mr.  E.  T.  Jeffrey  was 
elected  president  and  general  manager 
of  the  road.  Probably  no  man  in 

America  could  have  taken  up  the    tools 

« 

laid  down  by  Moffat  and  Smith  and  con- 
tinue the  good  work  begun  by  them, 
with  so  little  friction  as  did  the  present 
president  of  the  Denver  &  Rio  Grande 
Railroad  Company.  To  fill  the  places 


CHAPTER   XXI.  153 

vacated  by  these  popular  officials  was 
no  light  task.  The  grand  stand  was 
packed  and  the  voters  held  the  bleach- 
ers, when  President  Jeffrey  went  to  the 
bat. 

Colorado  said  "  Play  ball,"  and  in  the 
first  inning  he  won  the  respect  of  the 
other  players  and  the  applause  of  the 
people.  He  has  been  successful  because 
he  deserved  success. 

Three  months  after  the  completion  of 
the  line  to  Creed e,  each  train  brought 
to  the  camp  from  two  hundred  to  three 
hundred  people,  all  the  side-tracks  were 
blocked  with  freight  and  a  ceaseless 
stream  of  silver  was  flowing  into  the 
treasury  of  the  Denver  <fe  Rio  Grande 
Railroad  Company.  The  lucky  pros- 
pector built  a  cozy  cabin  in  the  new 
camp  and  saw  a  city  spring  up  almost 
in  a  day.  Just  where  the  trains  pulled 
in,  you  might  see  him  sitting  by  the 


154  THE  PROSPECTOR. 

cottage  door,  smoking  a  cigar,  while  the 
little  old  dog  who  had  just  finished  a 
remarkably  good  breakfast,  trotted  stiff- 
legged  up  and  down  the  porch  and 
wondered  why  they  did  n't  go  out  any 
more  and  hunt  in  the  hills. 


CHAPTER   XXL  155 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  CREEDE. 

A  thousand  burdened  burros  filled 
The  narrow,  winding,  wriggling  trail. 

An  hundred  settlers  came  to  build 
Each  day  new  houses  in  the  vale. 

An  hundred  gamblers  came  to  feed 

On  these  same  settlers — this  was  Creede. 

Slanting  Annie,  Gambler  Joe 
And  Robert  Ford  ;  Sapolio — 

Or  Soapy  Smith,  as  he  was  known—- 
Ran games  peculiarly  their  own ; 

And  everything  was  open  wide 

And  men  drank  absinth  on  the  side. 


And  now  the  Faro  bank  is  closed, 

And  Mr.  Faro's  gone  away 
To  seek  new  fields — it  is  supposed — 

More  verdant  fields.    The  gamblers  say 
The  man  who  worked  the  shell  and  ball 
Has  gone  back  to  the  Capital. 


156  THE  PROSPECTOR. 

The  winter  winds  blow  bleak  and  chill, 
The  quaking1,  quivering  aspen  waves 

About  the  summit  of  the  hill ; 
Above  the  unrecorded  graves 

Where  halt,  abandoned  burros  feed 

And  coyotes  call— and  this  is  Creede. 

Lone  graves !  whose  head-boards  bear  no  name, 
Whose  silent  owners  lived  like  brutes 

And  died  as  doggedly,  but  game, — 
And  most  of  them  died  in  their  boots. 

We  mind  among  the  unwrit  names 

The  man  who  murdered  Jesse  James. 

We  saw  him  murdered— saw  him  fall, 

And  saw  his  mad  assassin  gloat 
Above  him.    Heard  his  moans  and  all, 

And  saw  the  shot  holes  in  his  throat. 
And  men  moved  on  and  gave  no  heed 
To  life  or  death — and  this  is  Creede. 

Slanting  Annie,  Gambler  Joe 

And  Missouri  Bob  are  sleeping  thero  ; 
But  slippery,  sly  Sapolio, 

Who  seems  to  shun  the  Golden  Stair, 
Has  turned  his  time  to  loftier  tricks- 
He's  doing  Denver  politics. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

WEARING     HIS    WEALTH ATTRACTS     THE 

ATTENTION      OF      ADVENTURESSES LOS 

ANGELES. 

T^O  one  who  lias  lived  almost  alone 
and  unknown  for  a  half  hundred 
years,  the  change  from  obscurity  to  no- 
toriety and  fame  is  swift  and  novel. 
Mr.  Creede  realized  that  he  was  attract- 
ing the  attention  of  the  world,  especially 
the  fair  ones  in  search  of  husbands,  in 
a  very  short  time. 

In  his  little  den  up  the  Gulch  he  had 
a  collection  of  letters  that  were  interest- 
ing reading.  They  came  from  the  four 
corners  of  the  earth  ;  from  women  of 
every  tongue,  and  almost  every  walk 
of  life. 


158  THE   PROSPECTOR. 

The  first  one  I  saw  was  from  a 
St.  Louis  play  actress,  who  sent  photos ' 
in  which  her  left  foot  stands  at  six 
o'clock,  her  right  five  fifty-five.  Her 
hair  was  short  and  cut  curly.  She  said 
she  was  "  dead  weary  of  the  stage,"  and 
that  with  the  prospector's  money  and 
her  experience,  they  could  double  up 
and  do  the  world  in  a  way  that  would 
make  the  swells  of  "  Parie "  take  to  the 
woods,  and  there  was  nothing  the  mat- 
ter with  his  coming  on  and  she  would 
meet  him  on  the  Q.  T.,  and  if  she  failed 
to  stack  up,  he  could  cash  in  and  quit. 

July     11,     1892.       A     Ehode    Island 
preacher   writes   to  ask  for  help. 

"Doubtless,"  he  began,  "  you  have  many  letters 
from  people  upon  whom  the  cares  of  life  press 
heavily,  and  it  must  be  a  source  of  great  annoy- 
ance." 

After   dwelling    at   some  length   upon 
his   deplorable   condition,  there  was    a— 


CHAPTER  XXII.  159 

"P.  S. —  If  you  can't  send  money,  please  send  me 
a  suit  of  cast-off  clothes,  and  greatly  oblige, 
•     Yours  truly, 

44  N.  B. —  I  send  measure,  so  that  you  can  get  an 
idea  of  what  size  I  need.  Breast  37,  waist  32,  leg 
33." 

May  17,  1893.  A  woman  with  a  nose 
for  lucre  and  a  cold  nerve,  writes  from 
Waxahachie  to  ask  the  lucky  prospector 
to  u  come  down  and  look  at  her  daugh- 
ter." 

44  She  is  a  perfect  beauty  ;  has  a  good  solo  voice, 
but  is  a  little  lazy.  She  has  not  quite  developed, 
being  only  thirteen  years  old  ;  but  if  you  will  take 
a  look  at  her  you  will  change  your  mind.  She's  a 
beauty.  She  wants  to  go  to  Italy  or  France  and 
study  music  and  if  you  will  help  to  educate  her 
you  may  have  her." 

What  a  cold-blooded  proposition  is 
this,  soliciting  as  a  horse  trader  would 
for  some  one  who  has  a  fortune  to  take 
a  look  at  her  child  thirteen  years  old  ! 

A  lady  writes  from  Canada  to  borrow 
three  thousand  dollars  to  buy  a  tarm, 


160  THE  PROSPECTOR. 

and  adds  that  one  man  shoind  not  have 
so  much  money. 

An  ambitious  young  Englishman,  who 
is  in  love  with  the  "prettiest  girl  in 
Hold  Hengland,"  writes  for  a  "  few  'un- 
dred  to  bring  'er  hover  with." 

July  8,  1892,  at  Columbus,  Ohio,  a 
widow  writes  the  best  letter  of  them 
all. 

"  DEAR  MR.  CREEDE  :—  Having  seen  by  the  papers 
that  y's  hav  lots  av  money,  an'  a  good  disposition 
I  write  y's  to  ask  a  favor.  No  it's  not  money  I 
wants,  nor  do  I  want  y's  to  marry  me.  I  was  as  far 
west  as  Colarado  wanct,  saw  the  Vergini  Mine  in 
Uray  County  an'  its  Ten-able  in  1888.  Shure  it  was 
terrable,  too  ;  for  then  I  lost  the  best  friend  av  me 
life  —  the  foreman  of  the  Terrable,  he  died. 

"  After  that  it  seemed  I  had  no  friends  at  tall  a 
tall,  an'  I  came  back  to  Columbus.  Nearly  I  forgot 
to  say  I  wus  married  wauct — but  mind,  I'm  not  wan 
av  thim  grassy  widdies  —  I'm  bonyfied.  Shure  if  I 
was  as  shure  of  another  as  I  am  that  Pat  is  dead, 
shure  I  wo'n't  be  wastiu'  me  time  writin'  to  ye. 
Nearly  I  forgot  to  say  that  what  I  want  av  ye  is  to 
find  me  a  good  thru  and  'onest  husband.  I've  lost 
all  fait  in  these  wishy-washy  judes  here.  Gimme 


CHAPTER  XXII.  101 

the  rough  and  onest  hand  of  the  mountain,  and 
take  away  your  long-thmis  judes. 

"Comparativehr  speakin',  I  was  born  in  the  North 
of  Ireland  an7  am  a  happy  disposition. 

41  Remembher,  the  man  must  be  noble,  'onest  an' 
thru.  Please  write  to  me  soon. 

Very  respectfully  yours," 

"N.  B. — After  readin'  this  I  seel  was  about  to 
leave  out  the  most  imparteut  part.  Now  if  you 
can't  find  a  man  with  all  these  good  qualities  an' 
money  too,  I'll  take  the  one  wid  the  'onest,  thru  and 
noble  carocther.  Money  can  niver  buy  happiness 
an'  love,  an'  that  I  prize  above  everything  else.  I 
want  a  man  not  less  than  forty  as  he  should  begin 
to  have  some  since  by  that  time. 

Wanct  more  I  am,  Yours  truly, 

Up  to  the  writing  of  these  pages,  the 
mails  continue  to  bring  loads  of  letters 
from  all  sorts  of  cranks.  Those  from 
women  are  turned  over  to  Mrs.  Creede  ; 
but  only  a  very  few,  of  course,  are  an- 
swered. 

In  that  poet's  Paradise  ;  that  dreamy 
lotus-land,  Southern  California,  Creede 


162  THE  PROSPECTOR. 

has  bought  a  beautiful  home.  It  stands 
just  at  the  end  of  Sixth  street  on  Pearl, 
surrounded  by  tropical  trees,  vines  and 
flowers.  Here  the  balmy  breezes  bring 
down  the  scent  of  cedar  from  the  hills  to 
the  north,  and  the  soft  sea-winds  creep 
across  the  lea  from  the  ocean -edge.  It's 
a  pretty  place  —  a  pleasant  place  for 
weary  pilgrims  to  rest,  beyond  the  waste 
of  a  sun-dried  sea- 

O'er  which  he  toiled,  a  sea  of  sand  before  him, 
Dead  snakes  and  withered  toads  lay  on  his  way  ; 
The  desert  sun,  red,  awful,  hanging  o'er  h  m 
The  livelong  day. 

And  lo,  at  last  there  breaks  upon  his  vision 
A  paradise  with  flowers  and  tropic  trees, 
Cool,  crystal  streams  that  flow  throw  fields  elysian ; 
Los  Angeles. 


